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Heal Thy Self Book 3 By Paradox San Francisco...somewhere As consciousness slowly started to seep back into my mind the first thing sensation I could discern was pain. It wasn't that all- encompassing variety that I associated with one of Harold and Jackie's beatings, but focused on a singular point at the back of my head that seemed to wrap around the circumference of my skull and dig needle points into the back of my eyes. The sharp pain spilled a moan from my lips as I silently pleaded for it to go away. It receded slowly, but failed to depart completely and left a dull, throbbing ache behind. As more physical sensation started to return I thought I could feel something wet and sticky and I reached back to try and figure out what it was. When my body refused to perform the actions my mind directed it to do I was at first confused. When I tried again a new feeling of pain emerged, only this one was located in my hands and not as intense. Awareness suddenly snapped into place. Sounds and sensations suddenly flooded my senses so quickly it was almost overwhelming. I could hear an engine running and the ground beneath me rolled and pitched erratically while still maintaining a constant vibration. I opened my eyes but they seemed to be covered with a gauzy film that made everything hazy and indistinct. I shook my head and rubbed at my eyes to try and clear them. When my body failed to respond to my commands once again I came to the sudden realization that my hands were trapped behind my back with something thin binding them tightly together. I tried to yank them free but that only caused a quick flash of pain in my wrists which in turn made me utter a yelp. At least, I tried to yelp. My inability to project that sound made me realize that something was completely filling my mouth, cutting off the sound I had just tried to involuntarily make. That is when it suddenly came to me in crystal clarity. My hands were bound, I was gagged, and when I tried to scramble to my feet I also realized not only were my ankles were bound as well but they were tethered closely to my feet behind my back. I could barely move as I struggled frantically to try and escape the bindings that held my limbs so tightly and tried to scream for help through whatever it was that had been stuffed into my mouth. "You should probably save your strength," an all too familiar voice said from ahead of me. When my gaze shot towards it I realized that I was lying in the back of an empty cargo van. I couldn't see him driving because as far back as I was the narrow portal connecting the driving cargo area obstructed my view, but I knew instantly who it was. "You're going to want to conserve all of your energy for what's to come." As the van continued to speed to who knew where I berated myself for not following my instincts earlier that day. If I had, I wouldn't be tied and gagged in the back of a van being driven to god knew where for what could only be something terrible. As I continued to struggle against my bindings I wracked my brain to try and think of why Doctor Taylor had kidnapped me. * * * * For what must have been the tenth time in the last half an hour Chief Jacobs swore ruthlessly at his own stupidity. He should have recognized the look his co-conspirator had increasingly possessed in his eyes over the course of the last two days. He'd seen it too many times before, typically in devisors starting to succumb to the influence of a Dietrich's-induced madness. He blamed himself for not seeing it sooner. He'd been so involved in making careful preparations to ensure they wouldn't be caught he'd chosen to ignore the very thing that would take all of his careful planning and send it straight to the incinerator. Now he was scrambling to try and clean up the mess that damned crazy doctor had left behind while still trying to salvage something from the operation. As he piloted his car slowly yet skillfully through the evening traffic, he didn't want to appear to be in a rush after all, his cell phone's ringtone filled the cabin. Stabbing the call pickup button on the bluetooth-enabled stereo console he barked, "Jacobs." "Sir," a hesitant voice he recognized as belonging to Agent Beakes inquired, "Have you seen Keith...I mean Agent Mathews? I needed to compare some notes on a case with him and I haven't been able to find him all evening." "He mentioned something about doing some follow-up on the Logan investigation with the SFPD," the Chief explained while ensuring his voice maintained its even and commanding tone he was so well known for. "Well he isn't answering his cell," Beakes went on, the concern in the agent's voice easily transmitting over the cell line. "Have you tried contacting the local police district yet? Some of the areas in their facility are designed to block cellular reception." "No, I didn't think of that. I'll call them right away Chief." Though there was a bit of relief in the agent's voice, Jacobs could tell she was still concerned for her co-worker. "Very good Agent Beakes, please inform me if you have any other difficulties." "Yes sir, thank you sir," she replied and broke the connection. Jacobs let out a slow breath as he turned down a street before maneuvering into a mostly darkened section of the city. He knew he had little time to finish his task. Not only did he need to ensure his current objective was complete but he needed to get back and make certain Doctor Taylor didn't completely give in to his growing mania to the point where all of his work would be a total loss. Extinguishing his lights and pulling up in front of the darkened pier, the man carefully backed his vehicle up until it reached the very edge of the aging wooden structure before parking. After gathering up several items from the passenger seat he hauled the heavy load towards the rear of the vehicle before resting it on the wood. A quick press of a button and the trunk lid of the car popped open to reveal a large, plastic wrapped bundle amongst his collection of assault tools and weapons carefully arranged within the trunk. Because the large man always took care to keep himself in top physical condition, only a little more than normal effort was required to remove the plastic bundle from the trunk bed and set it on the pier. Out of the collection of items that had been brought from the passenger seat, the MCO Chief wrapped three stout chains tightly around the bundle before interlinking them with another single length of chain. All of this was secured via four heavy-gauge locks designed to be highly resistant to the elements. A large cinder block was placed at each end of the bundle before they too were secured to the collection of metal and plastic via two short chains and padlocks. The Chief gave the entire arrangement a careful looking over, inspecting the quality of the chains as well as making certain the locks were all secure. Once he was satisfied with his work the collection of plastic, steel, and cinder block was shoved over the edge of the pier where it splashed into the water. He made sure the whole apparatus slipped beneath the surface before closing the trunk and slipping back behind the wheel. Making sure he dove calmly and carefully, the MCO Chief departed from the area, leaving the body of Agent Keith Mathews to be dragged down by the icy grip of the bay. * * * * A choice had had to be made, but he realized now that choice had been the wrong one. It had been a crap shoot either way since when both vehicles had left from the MCO parking garage there had been two head signatures in each. Unfortunately, Gear had yet to be able to formulate a method of integrating x-ray into the helmet's substantial amount of technological accoutrements without compromising its sleek and close- fitting structure. So, he had to make a choice of which vehicle to follow. Since the Chief's car had a single heat signature in the trunk caution dictated it was the one to follow as opposed to the van with a signature behind the wheel and one in the passenger section. Leaping from rooftop to rooftop or using the monofilament lines to maintain pace with the vehicle's progress, the rapidly cooling heat signature in the trunk told him that either he'd made the wrong call or he was too late. Knowing he had to see this one through he keyed the coms in the helmet as he swung out onto another building. "Gear, do we still have a lock on the van?" "Negative," came the disappointed response, "I lost the sat feed for a few seconds when ground control issued a system diagnostic and re- orient burst. I'm digging through traffic cam footage to try and pick it back up." "Keep on it," he ordered as he raced across the rooftops, "I think my lead is going to be a bust. At least I hope it will be," he finished with a mutter. "What's wrong," his partner asked with clear concern. "One of the heat signatures has dropped off," was all that was needed for an explanation. Both of them knew what that meant. "Shit!" the other man hissed. "Just keep looking," he ordered and fired the line into the eve of another building before swinging into the air. He followed the car for another ten minutes before it finally stopped at a darkened pier. Crouching at the edge of a building three blocks away he toggled the zoom in as the man popped the trunk and took out a mass of clear plastic. Adjusting the zoom further he waited with breath held for the second it took for the focus adjusted to the sudden change. It released in a slow, careful exhalation when he was able to just make out the hair. Short and dark. "It's not her," he said quietly into the com as the large man carefully secured the plastic with chains and cinder blocks before tipping it into the bay. "Have you found the van yet?" "Negative," came the sighed reply, "There's too many of the same make, model, and color on the road right now and we don't have a destination to narrow it down." "Keep on it," he ordered, preparing to fire a line in order to resume his tail of the Chief's vehicle, "And start digging into Ronald Jacobs' and Reginald Taylor's lives. There's got to be something there to give us a clue where they're heading." "What about Keith Mathews? Think he's tied into this?" Casting a look at the water he watched the last ripple indicating where the bundle had struck fade away. Marking the spot with a geo-tag on the digital map the helmet provided he fired the piton and resumed his track. "No, he's not involved." San Francisco, Mission District While he certainly didn't need the MCO man's advice on many things, Reginald Taylor did heed the bit he'd been told about driving slowly and normally. Of course, it had been completely unnecessary since the physician knew no one was coming after them. For him it was holding back the anxious energy he possessed stemming from his desire to get to work. Already he was preparing his mind to run a multitude of tests and take a variety of samples from the subject while also anticipating the possible results. He was also considering what other testing and diagnostic equipment he might need to have the MCO agent procure for him. A hungry smile tilted his mouth upward when he heard his passenger in the back strain against her bindings and manage barely a whimper as she tried to scream for help once again. It had been the third time in the last half an hour and the results were the same as the first. Obviously the idiot girl had yet to work her feeble mind around the fact that he had taken expert care of ensuring her silence...at least until they arrived at his prepared facility. There she could scream all she wanted and it wouldn't matter. In fact, he was eagerly anticipating it. Piloting the van through the streets he finally arrived at the darkened building he'd selected as his worksite two days ago and pulled it into the large docking bay. Once the roll door had banged shut he slid out from behind the wheel and collected the hand truck resting against the slightly elevated dock platform. with a skip in his step and whistle on his lips he wheeled the cart to the rear cargo doors before throwing them open. He didn't even bother trying to stop the hungry grin from forming at the sight that greeted him. The girl had certainly fought hard to escape the bondage he'd placed her in. Her wrists and ankles were chaffed almost raw where they'd rubbed against the hard plastic zip ties he'd used to secure her. Her struggles had caused the plain, yet lovely white dress she wore to become rucked up about her hips and thighs, exposing the innocent white panties beneath. A thong Ashley? he mused silently, licking his lips as he eyed the feminine undergarment and the shapely flesh it highlighted, How naughty of you. Were you perhaps hoping you would get to show off such sexy lingerie? His gaze slowly tracked up the length of her youthful and sexy body until it reached those brilliant green eyes that were widened with terror. Tears had been freely spilling down her cheeks, likely for some time now, and had caused the mass of silver tape wrapped round and round her mouth to gleam with their moisture. He noticed her jaw working furiously as she seemed to be attempting to say something to him but between it and the large rag he had stuffed into her mouth the only sounds she was able to produce were tantalizing little whimpers and mewls. As he removed a scalpel from his jacket pocket the girl went wild, thrashing desperately against her bindings and doing everything she could to try and scream through the gag. "Now now young lady," he chided, bringing a hand down sharply between her shoulders to pin her to the floor of the van, "Unless you wish for me to accidently cut you it would be best to stay still." She froze when he laid the flat of the scalpel against her forearm and slowly traced it back across her bound hands until he reached the zip tie that connected her wrists to her ankles. With a flick of his wrist the connecting tie separated, allowing her legs to fully extend once more. Wasting little time, he pulled the girl from the van and dragged her over to the awaiting hand cart. By then her struggles had resumed and her frantic kicks caused the sandals to fly from her feet to land a short distance away. "Now stop that," he ordered sharply as he slammed her back against the upright portion of the cart. Her struggles once again ceased instantly when he brought the scalpel back into view. "Unless you behave yourself like a good girl I might be forced to...encourage you." With her eyes never leaving the naked blade just scant inches from her eye, she gave a tiny, quick nod. "Excellent," the doctor said pleasantly and slid the protective cover over the blade before replacing it in his pocket. "Now, let's see about getting you settled." Whistling jauntily once again, the deranged physician rolled the hand truck and its sexily writhing cargo into the building. * * * * Every instinct in me was screaming to run. It didn't matter that I was helplessly bound and gagged, that primordial part of my brain that identified itself as prey was shouting at me to try and struggle free and get as far away from this place and this man as fast as possible. As I was rolled through the hallways of the clearly abandoned building I cast my eyes about to try and figure out where I was and how I could escape. My mind raced as I wondered if anyone even knew what had happened to me. During the length of the drive here I'd replayed my last moments of consciousness to try and figure out what had happened. Chief Jacobs had been escorting me to the parking garage after having told me that a suitable foster family had been located. I'd been a bit leery about it given my history with foster parents but the man had seemed quite confident that I would be happy with this particular family. That was when I heard Agent Mathews call out to us and I had turned to see him running over holding my MID above his head. I guess it must have slipped out of the pocket of the dress he'd thoughtfully picked up for me that morning before my power testing. He'd just reached us when I had caught a flash of movement behind them just before the entire world exploded in white and then went black. When I'd woken up I was tied up in the back of the van driven by Doctor Taylor. Obviously Doctor Taylor had done...something to Agent Mathews and Chief Jacobs. I prayed he hadn't killed them but I knew by the look in his eyes that he held only the most tenuous of grips on his sanity and their deaths were almost a certainty. How he had been able to kill two well trained agents I didn't know, but the fact that he had me in this place and they were nowhere to be seen made it very clear he had. After wheeling me the full length of the darkened hallway lit only occasionally by a sputtering bulb here and there, he pushed open the large double doors to reveal two rooms separated by a full-length wall with a large bay-type window set into it and a small door off to the side. An odd-looking examination table was placed in the center of the room that contained multiple straps and was held up by a complicated looking mechanism with what seemed to be several articulation points. I was wheeled through the door and over to the exam table before the doctor easily lifted me off my feet and dropped me down onto the table with enough force to make me lose my breath for a moment. When I was able to breathe again I found his scalpel once more before my eyes. I stayed as still as possible while he said, "Now be a good girl and stay very still while I get you situated." I gave a very slight nod and he used the scalpel to slice through the bindings at my ankles. With that razor sharp blade so close to my flesh I didn't dare move or try to resist as he positioned my feet shoulder-width apart and then tightly buckled the straps around my ankles, calves, and just above my knees. When he had me sit up so he could cut my wrist bindings I had a flash of desire to just lash out at him and maybe try to get the scalpel away so I could escape. However I didn't act on my impulse because with my legs strapped down the way they were he would have no trouble fending off any attack and would likely bury that blade in my throat. So, trembling in fear, I allowed him to place my hands into the straps above my head before cinching them tightly along with straps at my forearms and biceps. Once my limbs were tightly locked in he drew up a strap from beneath the table around my waist and buckled it tight. I was strapped down to the table so tightly I couldn't even wiggle. "There we go," he said conversationally, "That wasn't so bad was it? Now, hold quite still..." I didn't even try to stop my whimpers of terror as he brought the blade close to my face once more. I tried to track its movements but it dipped below and behind my line of sight and I didn't dare move my head to follow it. When the cold steel touched my cheek I couldn't help but scream. "I said hold still bitch," he snarled before his voice returned to its hauntingly calm and professional demeanor, "I don't wish you to be damaged." Doing as ordered and trying not to move a muscle, I felt the surgical steel slip beneath the tape stuck to my jaw and carefully work its way upward until it had sliced completely through the silver band and thankfully left my flesh unmarred. The tape and the rag that had been stuffed into my mouth were then rudely torn from my face, pulling several hairs from the back of my scalp, causing my skin to redden angrily, and make me cry out in pain. "There we are," he smiled, "Now I need to gather up a few things so I will be back shortly and then we can begin." "Please," I begged him, "Please let me go Doctor Taylor." "Let you go?" He looked positively confused by my request. "Why in the world would I let you go? You're the key to finding out how to make the world better. Within your body lies the secret to eliminating every illness and disease in the world and possibly even the building blocks to immortality. Let you go? Oh no no no my dear. That simply won't happen." He grinned wickedly at me before walking to the door of the room. Just before passing through he paused and glanced over his shoulder at me. "Oh and don't fret about making too much noise. This was an old sound studio so this room is quite soundproof. Ta for now." I started to struggle against the straps even before he'd closed the door and discovered in less than a minute I was utterly pinned to the examination table. The most I was able to accomplish was I could flex my hands and feet and toss my head, but that was all. I was completely helpless and in likely a short amount of time that sick man who claimed to be a man of medicine would be returning to do who knows what kind unspeakable things to me. Regardless of his parting words, I desperately started screaming for help. * * * * "I suppose it was too much to hope for that he'd lead us right back to them?" the voice asked over the com channel. "We figured as much would happen," the man replied as he watched the MCO agent pilot his vehicle through the city streets from his perch on high. "Have you found anything that can help narrow down a possible location?" "Not yet. The Doctor's records all show clean. According to his transcripts from medical school he was a slightly above average physician but where he really seemed to excel at was biomedical research. He spent a lot of time doing lab work and even wrote his doctoral thesis on a hypothetic means of transmuting mutant genomes into baseline ones to artificially create mutants." "So we know why he's doing this, but it doesn't help with the where," the hunter commented evenly. "No, and his cell's gps is putting him at home but when I access it and his computer's webcam it's pretty clear no one's there. He must have left it at home so it couldn't be tracked. Not much luck with Chief Jacobs either. Other than the fact that he's had a stellar career including plenty of awards and combat certifications I haven't been able to come up with much else. There was that thing in New York a few years back and it was suspected that he was spearheading it but...hang on, what's this?" "Got something?" the hunter asked. The sigh was enough of an answer but his partner elaborated anyway. "No. I thought I did but it's just all of his buried secrets proving he was responsible for a full on mass murder of mutants. You remember, that thing that happened in New York a couple years ago. Nothing that helps us right now." "I'll have to do it the hard way then." San Francisco, Residence of Robert Jacobs It had taken two hours for the Chief to finally make it to his house. After ensuring Agent Mathews' body wouldn't be found, at least not for a long time, he made certain to undertake a rather casual circuit around the city. In order for it to appear like he wasn't deliberately attempting not to look suspicious he first stopped at a Chinese restaurant he frequented for a late dinner followed by picking up a few grocery items he didn't actually need from the corner store near his home. While he was quite certain there was only one other person who knew what had occurred in the parking garage of the MCO headquarters, prudency was always something the veteran agent practiced. Thus, if anyone was following him in an effort to locate the girl it was likely they had long since given up and moved on to try and find other leads. He hoped that the doctor had taken his advice when it came to preparations to ensure he wouldn't be found. Then again, it would be just like that idiot to bring his cell phone with him and allow himself to be tracked electronically. Since he couldn't risk exposing their lab's location he would have to wait until the following evening to get over there and make certain every effort was being made to conceal their location. Once the car was parked and the garage door lowered, the Chief stepped inside his house and disabled the primary alarm. Thirty seconds afterwards he input a second code into the pin pad and was rewarded with a short beep while the words: No Previous Attempts scrolled across the small LED screen. Nodding his satisfaction he walked into the dark kitchen and put the few groceries he'd purchased as a ruse away before rising... ...And yanking his weapon from its holster at his hip while simultaneously spinning and dropping into a crouch. His weapon had traveled halfway into a position of readiness when a dark shape flashed out of the shadows, striking his hand twice simultaneously in the nerve clusters of the wrist. As the gun flew out of his hand to skitter across the kitchen tile floor he leapt back and snatched a large butcher knife from the block at his elbow. As he gripped the blade firmly in a reverse grip he narrowed his eyes in an effort make out dark shape before him. As his eyes adjusted to the dark he saw it was a man of average height dressed in all black and dark gray with a jacket and a hooded sweatshirt on. The hood was pulled up so he couldn't make out any of the man's face but his stance clearly indicated someone who was calm and in control. "We need to talk Ronald," the man said in a low, gravelly voice. The Chief didn't respond and slowly moved to try and get himself in a better position to attack with the knife. The man didn't even shift his position. Only the movement of the hood told Jacobs that the man was following him. "Where's the girl?" "With her new foster family," he replied and suddenly darted forward, slashing with the knife. He knew that the man wouldn't be expecting him to strike while talking so conversationally. The stranger deflected the blow almost casually, sending Jacobs' arm wide before a fist buried itself in the larger man's solar plexus. Jacobs stumbled back gasping for breath and wildly slashing his blade to keep the man at bay for at least a few seconds while he recovered. When he did, he saw the intruder still standing in the same spot he'd been in from the start. He had made no move to come after him. Why? "Where's the girl?" he repeated as though an attempt to kill him hadn't just happened. "Fuck you," Jacobs snarled. He could hear the wicked smile in the strangers voice when he said, "I was hoping you'd say that." The next thing the Chief knew he was flying across the room and crashing into his couch. The hard frame slammed into his back and sent pain shooting up his spine. For a second he was worried he'd just been paralyzed but was relieved when he found he could get back up. Unfortunately he'd lost his grip on the knife so he was now weaponless. Gritting his teeth he brought up his fists in a boxer's stance and waited while the dark man walked towards him. "Come on," he goaded and unleashed a flurry of punches. Having been extensively trained in unarmed combat, the Chief carefully picked his targets. Instead of going for the head like most would expect, he aimed for the larger soft targets like the stomach, the chest, and the sides. He even lashed out with his feet in an effort to dislocate a kneecap. Very few people would have been capable of defending against such a skilled onslaught. Not a single blow landed. Every strike was easily parried away or blocked. The attempt at the kneecap only resulted in the stranger completing the exact same strike a split second faster. When Jacobs felt his leg explode in pain he had to grit his teeth almost hard enough to break to keep from crying out. As he stumbled back his foot caught the edge of the area rug in the living room and sent him spilling to the floor. The stranger was on him in a heartbeat. This time it was the MCO agent that was the recipient of a flurry of blows that twisted his guts, cracked his ribs, fractured his collarbone, and blasted into his face. By the time it ended the Chief was experiencing a level of pain he'd never encountered in his life. Each breath he took was agony and when he coughed it sent a small spray of blood flying from his lips. Every part of his body sang a tortured song as the dark stranger crouched over him. "Where's the girl?" the man asked once again, "You have about ten minutes before you either bleed out from the ruptured spleen or you drown from the punctured lung." It was a trick, and Jacobs knew it. Even if he did tell this man where Taylor had taken the girl, there was no way paramedics would reach him in time to save his life. The only chance he would have had is if Ashley herself had been there to use her powers on him. In any case, he was done and he knew it, but he didn't have to like it. "Okay," he half wheezed half choked in a voice barely above a whisper, "I'll tell you." As the stranger leaned down slightly to hear him better, he never saw the experienced law enforcement officer slip the pistol from his ankle holster and shove it into his chest before pulling the trigger. San Francisco, Mission District "Oh you might just swing on a star. Carry moonbeams home in a jar. If you're better off where you are..." The Reginald Taylor swayed to the time of the music crooning out from the portable speaker perched on the tabletop as he dancingly laid out all of his instruments on the rolling stainless steel tray. His initial impulse had been to go whole hog into the testing procedures, extract a great plethora of tissue samples, liters of blood, hair and nail clippings, the works. However upon a now rare moment of logical reflection he realized that doing so would most likely result in the death of the test subject. While that part was indeed an eventuality, he would require her to remain alive for the time being if his initial tests failed to bear ripened fruit and more sampling was needed. Besides, he fully intended to explore every avenue when it came to extracting her power. If some of those avenues required the ravishing girl to be naked and servicing him sexually...well it was all in the name of science after all. He was certain he would be able to make her understand this, but there were other methods at his disposal should reason fail. Bringing the surgical tray with him he made his way back from the spare office he'd converted into a makeshift lab to the sound studio where she was currently absconded. By the look of sheer exhaustion on her face he reasoned that she had likely attempted to scream for help the moment he'd departed earlier. His supposition proved to be correct when she lifted her head at the sound of his entry sent a pleading gaze his way. "Please," she whispered hoarsely, "Don't do this." "Come now my dear," he responded airily, "You should know better than most that medical science requires experimentation to further itself. Why, it's the very reason why we have cures for diseases like small pox and polio. Had there been no medical science working to find causes for things like this the human race could very well have died out from a second outbreak of Spanish Flu." "They..." she swallowed hard, trying to get some moisture back into her raw throat, "They didn't use people like guinea pigs." "Ah but that's where you're wrong," he cried happily as he rolled the surgical tray next to her, "Throughout history there have been a great many medical breakthroughs that owe themselves to human testing. In the early days it was indeed man who was the guinea pig, not the animal, which cures were tested on." Plucking a needle from the tray he lightly tapped her arm at the bend in the elbow. "I am simply following in that tradition with mutants." Though the girl pulled against the straps with all her strength, her arm only faintly quivered as the needle stabbed into her vein. A sharp cry of pain flew from her mouth as a test tube was fitted into the needle housing, causing blood to rapidly fill the glass tube. Once the first was filled to capacity he swapped it out with a second, and then a third. He didn't even bother to staunch the puncture wound as the needle was removed, allowing a rivulet of blood to roll down her arm. Setting the vials on the surgical tray he smiled up at his terrified subject. "There, that wasn't so bad was it?" "You're a monster!" she whispered in horror. The wickedly insane smile froze on his lips before slowly melting away. It happened so gradually Ashley didn't even realize it was gone until he was glaring at her with such intensity it had her skin crawling. "I'm not a monster," he explained to her in such a cold and rational voice it was even more jarring than that singsong tone of insanity he'd been using up to this point. "I'm a scientist." Her gasp filled the still air when she felt his hand on her thigh just above the strap pinning it in place. Surprised, she looked down to see his fingers slowly traveling up her leg, measuring the gentle swell of muscle that lay just beneath the skin. When his hand disappeared beneath her rucked up dress her eyes flew to his, growing large as panic raced through her chest. She tried to scream "No!" but her voice was stolen from her by fear and all she could do was mouth the word at him. His expression still remained cold and hard as his fingers inched high and higher beneath her skirt. When she felt them brush the softness of her panties Ashley went wild, struggling crazily, trying to wiggle her hips away from him, screaming desperately for him to stop as the pads of his fingers began to trace the soft mound of girlhood that she'd only just recently been able to accept. When he lightly pressed into that soft flesh beneath the thin cotton tears streamed down her face and she started pleading with in babbled words that ran into one another until they were nothing more than inarticulate sobs. When she felt her panties drawn aside and his finger slip ever so slightly into her she thought for sure she'd die from her heart shattering. Ashley was so consumed the despair washing through her she never realized the doctor had shifted slightly so his lips were directly by her ear until she heard him quietly say, "Now I am a monster. Do you understand the difference?" She nodded frantically, whispering over and over again, "I understand! I understand!" "Excellent," he replied with a bright smile as the once again overly happy persona seemed to reclaim the doctor's body and he stepped back over to the surgical tray. "Now I'll need to get a tissue sample from you." Picking up a scalpel, a new one as opposed to the one contained in his coat, from the tray he stepped over to the shivering and weeping girl and touched her bicep with the flat of the blade. Sudden touch of cold made her jump and scream in fear, which in turn caused the doctor to chuckle. "Calm down my dear. Now, wing or thigh?" Ashley couldn't answer him. Instead, she could only gape in disbelief as the madman made fried chicken jokes about hacking off a piece of her flesh. "Ah well," he decided, "I was always a leg man myself." As he lowered the scalpel to her thigh, laughing at his own dark joke, something in his pocket beeped softly. "Damn interruptions," he swore quietly and set down the blade before fishing his phone out of his pocket. Swiping the lock screen away he smiled as a video image appeared on the phone's screen. On the screen, a familiar Mustang GT was pulling into the garage of the building. "Well," he announced, "It looks like we have company." Slipping the phone back into his pocket he stood and collected the vials of blood he'd drawn earlier. "Don't worry, I'm sure Agent Jacobs will be more than happy to assist me in obtaining some tissue samples from you." When the girl's eyes widened in shock the maniacal physical laughed. "You didn't know that Jacobs was my partner, did you? Well I'll be sure you get a proper reunion with him, though I wouldn't expect him to be as nice as me. He has a rather strong dislike for mutants you know." The girl burst into fresh tears as the soundproofed door closed. * * * * Taylor was whistling happily as he strolled down the hall towards the loading bay. Things were clicking along quite nicely. Oh certainly that soft-hearted Jacobs had become strangely upset when he'd killed that agent of his, but hadn't they already talked about that? He told the man that Agent Mathews needed to be eliminated. Since clearly the MCO man was moving far too slowly he'd simply taken matters into his own hands and alleviated the investigator of the responsibility. He should have been thanking the doctor, not yelling at him. They would have to have a little chat about that in the near future so the man knew who was in charge here. After all, he had plenty of recorded evidence of their conversations regarding the kidnapping of the girl. He imagined it wouldn't at all be difficult to find an expert, maybe a gadgeteer or devisor, who could alter the recordings so he sounded like a saint and Jacobs a ruthless psychopath. The sound of the cargo bay door opening drew the physician from his thoughts and he plastered a charming and welcoming smile on his face. No need to let the man think anything other than the plan was proceeding fine. Then the lights went out. Taylor blinked in surprise as the hallway was plunged into darkness. Well that was unfortunate. He was glad he'd thought ahead to outfit his equipment with portable gas generators in case such an unfortunate thing were to occur. Digging out his phone he keyed the flashlight feature and shone the light down the hallway calling, "Jacobs? What ha-" His words died in his throat when the light swept over the figure standing in the hallway. It was a man, but it wasn't Jacobs. Instead this man was slightly over average height and wearing a bodysuit of mottled black and dark gray with a black hooded sweatshirt and black jacket over it. The hood had been drawn up, obscuring the man's face and a pistol rested in a holster on either thigh. "Who the hell are you?" Taylor yelled in outrage, furious that some disgusting homeless person would intrude upon his important work. The man didn't respond. Instead, he only seemed to...flicker. A split second later there was a crack of glass and plastic and a white hot pain pierced through the physician's hand and he let out a scream of pain. As his phone's light flickered drunkenly in an effort to remain functioning, he realized that a steel spine had punched through both his phone and hand, pinning the two together. Already he could barely feel his fingers and knew his hand was functionally useless. To a doctor, there was no greater tragedy than losing one's hands. "You bastard!" he screamed wildly, "How dare you take my hand!" and spinning he sprinted back down the hall. There were no sounds of footsteps indicating a pursuit but his prey hindbrain knew that this man, this predator, was hunting him. That fear allowed him to put on a short burst of speed that took him into the sound studio and into the soundproof room where Ashley looked up in a mixture of surprise and horror. When she saw the black spike protruding from his phone and hand she screamed. "Shut up!" he snapped at her and wildly grabbed for one of the tools on the surgical tray. His fingers had just closed on a small bone saw when the explosion came. * * * * For several second all I could hear was a ringing in my ears. As it slowly faded other sounds began to filter in though they sounded as if I was under water and I couldn't make them out. As the sound slowly became clearer I was able to discern that the only sound I was hearing was screaming. At first I thought it was coming from me, but as I opened eyes that I hadn't even realized I'd shut I saw it was Doctor Taylor who was giving voice to it. The hand that he had been using to hold the bone saw, presumably to use on me, now possessed a very sizable hole where the palm used to be. Fingers that had become nothing more than useless appendages flopped bonelessly now that the nerves required to use them had been blown into oblivion. When he lifted a gaze filled with a mixture of anger and fear I followed it up to the object of his attention. Standing there was a man covered from head to toe in black. I couldn't see his face because he had the hood of his sweatshirt drawn up and his entire head was shrouded in darkness. He stood with a casualness that belied the lethality of the still smoking pistol he held aimed at the doctor. He said nothing as the doctor cursed and swore at him before spinning towards me. Crying out, I felt my head ripped back by my hair and the point of the spike sticking out of his one remaining functional hand, if it was indeed still functional, pressed against my throat. "Twitch and I give the bitch a non-medically approved tracheotomy. Hey, twitch? Bitch?" He laughed hysterically at his sick rhyme. "Now back away," he ordered the man, his voice suddenly becoming deadly serious. The man didn't respond verbally, he simply maintained his point of aim at the doctor, who by this point was half using me as a shield. "You may be able to shoot me," the doctor explained in a cold tone, "But I'll open this bitch's throat if you do. You're obviously here for her so do you want her to die?" I knew the words were only just for show. There was no doubt in my mind that Doctor Taylor would kill me one way or the other after this. Whether it happened in this moment or after this standoff was complete, my life would be over. As much as it terrified me to realize that, it angered me as well. From the moment I'd woken in that hospital I had been nothing but grateful to this man for his kindness while caring for a poor, abused mutant now-girl. He had been steadfast at my side the entire time I had been in the custody of the MCO and it had been him who had helped me to understand my powers a little bit better. For that I had also been grateful and never shied away from expressing that. This man, this doctor whom I had placed so much trust in had taken that and twisted it into something evil and disgusting just to fulfill his own sick and depraved desires. It was horrifying, but beyond that it was enraging. As he shifted even closer to me his forearm pressed harshly against my cheek even as his chin brushed against the fingertips of one of my bound hands. Whether it was because of the extreme intensity of emotion I was feeling or because it was some kind of survival instinct I don't know, but I felt my powers activate. I could sense the severe damage that had been done to the doctor's hands and I knew they were both now useless. The only reason why he was even able to hold the spike to my throat was because it was braced by the flesh of his hand and the phone it has also penetrated. I could feel the ragged flesh and the prevailing absence in one hand and the fine, white hot point in the other that had neatly severed the nerves leading to his fingers. There was also a faint trace of something, some kind of abnormality that I didn't recognize as an injury but couldn't identify. It was almost like a strange expansion within his artery. Whatever it was, it was not a normal bodily process. I felt his injuries and I knew I could heal them. With a push of my power I would be able to make his hands whole. They would once again possess the power to heal, but also the power to kill. There were other injuries that I could sense. Tiny little pinpricks here and there that might have occurred when he had blindly been searching for a weapon or making his desperate flight back into this room. They were almost insignificant, but I could sense them and I knew I could heal them. But as my mind whirled with a combination of terror and anger I suddenly understood something. I could mend those injuries, I knew that much, but instead of pushing that healing energy I did something else entirely. I pulled. I don't know what possessed me to do it, and I wasn't sure it would even do anything, but I reached into the man's body with my power and simply pulled. The doctor's bodily response was immediate and horrifying. Every single injury he possessed, regardless of how big or small it was, suddenly tore open as though dozens of invisible hands had reached into the flesh of his injuries and ripped them wide. His scream of pain was deafening in my ear as those tiny little pinpricks suddenly became gaping maws spewing blood. Both of his hands practically came apart, almost as though the skin had lost its cohesiveness and unraveled like a quilt until nothing was less except for stumps. He raised those now severely diminished appendages to his face in abject horror and released a howl of agony... ...that was abruptly silenced when the carotid artery in his neck exploded out his throat. His head lolled back just before he collapsed to the floor where he lay motionless. There was no need to use my power to know with absolute certainty that he was dead. As darkness suddenly and rapidly swallowed me into its depths I thought. At least he went before I did. * * * * "I'm not sure how much I can do with this. I do tech, not medicine." "Just do your best, it'll be enough." The two voices slowly drew me towards the waking world, though it was certainly not an easy trip. Unlike before, trying to regain consciousness this time felt as though I was swimming through molasses. Sensations were distant and the voices I'd heard I could only just make out as it sounded like I was wearing earplugs. As I fought close and closer, using the voices as a reference point, a faint glimmer of light began to filter in and around my consciousness. It grew stronger and stronger until my mind broke free of its fog and my eyes snapped open. Terrified that I would see the soundproofed sound studio once again, I was surprised to discover that my face was half buried in a soft pillow and a blanket was tucked around me. Blinking to clear my vision, I saw I was actually lying on a twin-sized bed in what appeared to be a simple but nice-looking hotel bedroom. The lights were off save for the small bedside lamp but it was more than enough for me to see several open cases resting on a second twin bed. "How did you let this happen?" I heard a voice say, from what I presumed was in the bathroom, in annoyance. "I knew he carried a backup in the ankle holster," a second voice, this one lower and more serious-sounding, replied. "I didn't know it was a hot-load three fifty-seven." There was a sigh from the other voice as I slowly sat up. I had no idea where I was or who belonged to those voices, but I wasn't going to take the chance that this was another bunch of psychopathic scientists ready to cut me open for my secrets. I had a moment of relief when I pulled the blankets back and found I was still dressed, sans sandals, and slowly set my feet down on the carpet. Moving on tiptoe with my ears straining to their limit to try and hear if either of the owners of those voices heard me, I slowly walked towards the door of the hotel room. I knew that once I reached the bathroom I would need to run since they would see me passing it. I would maybe have a second or two to get out the door before they were on me. I just prayed I was fast enough. I'd barely taken two steps when a rather average looking man in his mid to late twenties with short brown hair in jeans and a blue T-shirt with the words MIT is for suckers written in yellow stepped out of the bathroom. He smiled at me and raised both of his hands in a surrendering gesture. "Hi, nice to see you're up. You're safe here, we're the ones who rescued you." I froze when he said and did that, immediately looking around for some other avenue to escape. The flight part of my brain was screaming to leap out the window but the rational side reminded me that most hotel windows didn't open and those that did only a couple of inches. The door that the man was standing in front of was my only way out. "Let me go." I tried to make it sound like a demand but it came out as a plea. Still, I clenched my fists tightly and prepared myself to kick, claw, punch, and even bite my way free if that's what it took. There was no way I was going to let them experiment on me and if I died trying to escape then so be it. "Easy sweetheart," the man said calmly, "You're not a prisoner here, but right now the MCO is in a full on search for you ever since you went missing along with that jackass Jacobs and that psycho doctor of yours." "What are you talking about?" I demanded, shifting to the side a little and hoping I'd be able to catch him by surprise. "He's saying that right now you're a person of interest in the disappearance of two MCO agents and respected physician." My eyes flicked over to the entrance to the bathroom as another man walked out and I couldn't hold back my gasp. The reaction was a dual purpose one. For starters, the man who walked out of the bathroom was...well, he was gorgeous. At maybe five foot ten every inch of visible flesh, which considering he was only wearing a pair of what looked like bike shorts was quite a bit, was lean, taut muscle leading up to a chiseled face and black hair that hung loosely just past his ears. Sharp, steel gray eyes looked steadily at me in an expression of neutrality that tried to hold me captive with their gaze. The second reason for my gasp was the condition he was in. There were a multitude of scars on his body ranging from what looked like knife wounds to bullet wounds. What really stood out was the large four by four gauze pad taped to the man's side. I didn't know how long ago it had been applied but it was already completely saturated with blood that was rolling down his side. "What...what happened?" I whispered, unable to tear my gaze away from the hidden, bloody wound. "Why don't we sit down and we'll tell you what we have figured out so far. Maybe you can help us fill in a couple of gaps. I swear we aren't going to hurt you," the man in the T-shirt finished when I cast him an untrusting look. The injured man looked at me for a moment before disappearing into the bathroom. When he returned a moment later I leapt back as he held a wicked looking automatic pistol in his hand. He seemed to ignore my sudden spike in fear, as well as his associate's protests, and ejected the clip, showed me it contained bullets, slapped it back into the pistol, and pulled the slide back before letting it snap forward. Without a word he turned the pistol around so he was holding it by the barrel and moved past the other man to extend the gun out to me. When I didn't move to take it he gave it a small shake in my direction and said, "Go ahead, take it." With slow movements, my eyes never leaving his, I reached out with a trembling hand to take the gun from him. "Keep your finger off the trigger unless you plan to kill something," he warned me before sitting down heavily on the bed with the cases. When he did that I noticed just how pale he was and there was a light sheen of sweat on his face. Whoever this man was, he was hurt badly and had probably lost a lot of blood. "Ashe we need to get you to the hospital," the other man insisted as he crouched down to examine the wound. "It can wait until we explain what happened," the man called Ashe stated, his eyes never leaving mine. "Do you feel safe enough having that to talk with us?" I'd never held a gun in my life, much less fired one, and the truth was I was terrified even thinking about using it. I wasn't a violent person, though to defend myself I supposed I was capable, but the idea of just shooting someone for no reason made me feel physically ill. Still, that rational part of my mind that was struggling to keep its place in the forefront of my consciousness told me that this man giving me a gun, one he actually showed me was loaded and ready to fire, was his way of trying to show me that their intention wasn't to hurt me. Still, my paranoia levels were at an all-time high at the moment so I kept the gun aimed at the man wearing the T-shirt as I sat down. "Okay," I said in a shaky voice, "Talk." "Why the hell are you pointing the gun at me?" the man in the shirt demanded, sounding almost petulant about it. "Because she's smart," the other man said with approval in his voice, "You're uninjured. You pose more of a threat right now." I blinked in surprise that this man was able to discern the motive behind my actions seemingly without even thinking about it. "You said you were going to explain," I prodded. While I wanted answers I also didn't want this man bleeding out and dying right there. "A...friend," the man in the shirt started, "Called us and told us about how Chief Jacobs and Doctor Taylor were planning on kidnapping you to try and figure out how your power worked. We came and rescued you." I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. "That's all?" He shrugged and smiled, "What can I say, we're do-gooders." "Shut up Gear," Ashe muttered before redirecting his attention to me. "An associate of ours overheard a conversation between the two men detailing their plans so she contacted us and asked for our help. Since there was no real evidence against either man detailing what their intentions were, and they'd already presented such a positive public image regarding your case, she knew she couldn't call local law enforcement or the local superhero team for help since they wouldn't do anything." "So you work outside the law?" I asked, "You're criminals?" "Work outside the law, yes," he replied, "But no we aren't criminals. We stop the criminals the police can't." "But why-" My words were cut short when I saw the man start swaying unsteadily before his eyes fluttered and he slumped to the floor, pitching to his side. "Ashe!" the man called Gear cried and was instantly at his side. "Dammitt, you've lost too much blood." Cursing that part of my nature that demanded I help people, it was what had gotten me into this fix to begin with after all, I dropped the gun on the bed and quickly knelt down beside Gear to also examine the wound. The moment my fingers touched him I opened myself to feel for his injuries. Immediately I could tell that he was suffering from three very serious bullet wounds. They had penetrated deeply and had done a fantastic job of breaking a few rubs and practically shredding his liver and spleen, causing him to bleed internally as well as externally. There was no way he was going to survive even if we got him to the hospital in the next five minutes. Without any hesitation I reached into that well of power within myself and started shoving the energy into him as hard as I could. Immediately I could feel the bullets, which were still inside of him, get worked back out of his body until they were expelled completely and dropped silently to the floor. From there my power went to work repairing the internal damage, reconstituting the liver and spleen. It set about knitting the bones of his ribs back together as well before taking care of drawing the wound path closed until his skin had sealed itself back up flawlessly. As one final means of helping, my power strengthened and quickened his body's blood production for several seconds, flushing his veins with that crimson, life sustaining fluid. Only when I was certain that the injury was healed completely and that he was stabilized did I shut off my power... ...And woke up on the floor with the two men leaning over me, concerned looks on their faces. "How...how long?" I whispered, my throat feeling as dry as a desert. "About ten minutes," Gear told me as both of them helped me to sit up and Ashe held a plastic cup of water to my lips. "A lot less than last time." "Last time?" I wondered quietly as I worked to clear the fog from my mind. "You were out a little over an hour after I got to you," Ashe explained as he helped me sip from the cup and ease the dryness in my throat. I nodded but wasn't surprised. I wish I knew why I passed out every time I used my power because I had gotten more than a little tired of it. That was when I realized Ashe was looking very healthy as he gently held me up and administered the water to me. Reaching up to lightly push the glass away I peered at him with concern. "You're okay then? The wound healed?" "The wound?" Gear barked with a laugh, "Sweetheart you not only took care of that but every scar he's ever gotten vanished." I looked at Ashe's exposed flesh in surprise. He'd pulled on a pair of well-worn jeans while I was out but he was still shirtless and I could see that the plethora of scar tissue that had decorated his skin was gone. All that was left was perfectly smooth, unblemished skin. "Oh my god!" I exclaimed, "I didn't mean to do that." "It's okay," Ashe assured me as we stood up, "I'm not the type to get sentimental over scars and I'm sure I'll collect a new set before long." "I didn't even realize my power was doing that," I said, shaking my head, "I was so focused on your bullet wounds I didn't even notice them healing as well." Ashe got a thoughtful expression on his face when I said that, causing Gear to look at him critically. "What are you thinking?" "Postulating a theory," he replied, though it seemed more like he was talking to himself than to us before his eyes regained their sharp focus, "But that's something to worry about later. Right now our main concern is how stop the MCO, police, and possibly even the FBI from coming after you." "But I didn't do anything," I protested. "We know that," Gear told me, nodding in agreement with my statement, "But right now all three agencies are looking for you since you were the last one seen with Chief Jacobs, Agent Mathews, and Doctor Taylor." "Well where are they?" I asked. While Doctor Taylor had died right in front of me, hell I'd been the one to kill him, I had no clue about Chief Jacobs or Agent Mathews. "The last thing I remember before waking up tied up in that van with Doctor Taylor was Agent Mathews running over waving my MID. Everything went black after that." Gear nodded and sat down on the bed across from me while Ashe went about gathering up very items around the room and carefully packing them into the cases. "After Ashe rescued you I was finally able to get into the MCO systems. Hacking isn't really my strong suit so it took a little while to get through their firewalls so I wouldn't be noticed and access their security system. When Agent Mathews had been coming over to you Doctor Taylor stepped out from behind the van he'd driven into the garage earlier and used a scalpel to slice through his second and third vertebrae. He was dead without even knowing something had hit him." I uttered a choked gasp, both at the descriptions of the actions and the unnervingly casual way Gear related them to me. Tears immediately filled my eyes and spilled down my cheeks. The one person in that building who had been supportive and even someone I could call a friend had been killed so coldly and casually just so those sick bastards could do experiments on me. The unfairness and senselessness of it made me want to scream. "After that," Gear went on, though his voice had gentled when he saw my tears, "Doctor Taylor tied you up and put you into the van while Chief Jacobs wrapped Agent Mathews up in plastic from his truck and put him in. The two went separate ways after that. Ashe tracked Jacobs since we didn't have access to the footage at the time and didn't know what vehicle you were in while I tracked the van using a satellite that I hitchhiked on. Unfortunately I lost the signal before you got to that abandoned building so we didn't know where he had gone." Sniffling and wiping my tears with the tissue Ashe handed me I looked over at Gear in confusion. "Then how did you find me?" "I convinced Chief Jacobs to disclose the doctor's location," Ashe said without a hint of inflection in his voice. It didn't take a genius to figure out what he meant by 'convinced. "After taking three slugs in the side," Gear quipped. "You're damn lucky you didn't die on the spot." "The armor slowed them down enough to keep them from being fatal," Ashe explained, more for my benefit than Gear's I thought. "That's something we'll need to work on." "If you want to keep the flexibility you have I won't be able to pack any more protection into it," Gear told him, then added in a snarky tone, "You'll just need to keep from taking contact hits from large caliber weapons." "Noted." "Armor?" I quietly thought out loud, though neither Ashe nor Gear chose to elaborate on the subject. Of course it wasn't hard to figure out that the dark suit I'd seen Ashe wearing when he'd rescued me was some kind of high tech body armor. Given the way they had just been discussing it I wagered that while it could withstand bullets fired from a distance it wasn't nearly as effective at point blank range. "You built that suit he was wearing?" "Yeah," Gear said proudly, "I'm a gadgeteer with a specialty in weapons and armor making though I try to dabble in other stuff." That made sense since he seemed to be rather technologically savy. "So then you must be an exemplar," I said to Ashe, making the leap as he clearly possessed superior physical skills. "I'm not a mutant." "Oh. So what do we do next?" I asked, getting back onto the subject of the various law enforcement agencies looking for me. I suppose I should have been more surprised that my rescuer was just a normal human, but really 'normal' was a relative term these days. If he wasn't going to make a big deal out of it then neither would I. "I've been considering several options," Ashe told me as he pulled on a simple gunmetal gray T-shirt, "And the one that is most effective in keeping you out of harm is for me to deliver a thumb drive to the SFPD, FBI, and L.A MCO offices containing all of the data we have about Jacobs' and Taylor's plan. We'll include the security camera footage from the garage, text and phone calls the two made to one another, the gps location of Mathews' body, and the footage I collected during my interrogation of Jacobs and your rescue. All of that should be enough for the various agencies to understand that you were not complicit in any of their actions." "But they'll still probably want to talk with me," I insisted. "No," Ashe said as Gear went about setting up a handheld camera on a tripod, "They won't." San Francisco, Molly's Diner Phil Hartsong had been a detective in SFPD's Homicide Division for ten years. You didn't put in that much time in and not have your fair share of clandestine meetings to talk with a confidential informant or witness. Dealing with people who were afraid of reprisals or just flat out didn't want to get involved with either the cops or criminals was just a fact of life when doing this job. So when the anonymous caller first requested to speak with him about a multiple murder that wasn't even on the board it got his attention. That attention turned into riveting when the caller said he had information on the deaths of two MCO agents, including Keith Mathews, and a Doctor Taylor from UCSF Medical Center. Phil remembered Keith from a few years ago. He'd been a good kid and a good detective. While his instincts for police work hadn't been the best in the world, they were more than adequate for this occupation. He'd actually been sorry to see him leave to join the ranks of the MCO since he'd only had the chance to work with him a handful of times and each time the kid had been solid. Phil, like every law enforcement officer in this town, knew that Keith and his commanding officer Roland Jacobs had gone missing two days ago and cops were combing the streets looking for any clues. When this mysterious caller had gotten in touch with him he had been the last one about to leave the officer and call it a night. Normally he'd have wanted at least a partner with him on the interview, possibly even some backup, but the time and location hadn't allowed him to even call in one of the off-duty guys. He'd considered calling in a couple of uniforms but something told him marked squad cars would spook the informant and any good information would