"Blood Seduction"

Vicki stood quietly in front of the closed door to the master bedroom gathering her courage. Finally, she sucked in a deep breath and gently knocked. She could barely hear the soft, “Yeah?” Knowing Sara, she figured that knocking again would only piss her off so Vicki cracked the door a little and asked, “Can I come in?” The pause that followed almost convinced her that Sara was going to deny her entrance. She was getting ready to pull the door shut again when Sara responded, “Sure. Come on in.” Sara was sitting in the chair by the bed, her legs tucked up under her. Although she had dragged on a pair of wrinkled, black sweats, she hadn’t bothered to comb her hair. It surrounded her face in wild tangles, like the mane of a lion. Her face was pale and her eyes were hollow. She looked ill. Vicki frowned, concerned, and asked, “Are you sick?” Sara’s generous mouth curved in a wry smile. “No more than usual,” she replied, “And no less than I deserve.” Vicki sat on the bed across from her friend. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she asked. Sara grimaced. “It means that you and I have a lot to answer for,” she hissed, “Dev is paying the price for our stupidity; your lust and my lies. You and me, Vick. We fucked up big time and he’s going to die for it.” Vicki’s whole body tensed. Her dark eyes had gone huge. “Die,” she gasped, “Oh, god. Did you have a vision?” She waved a hand in the direction of the Witchblade. “Did that thing show you…?” Her voice ran out, failing her. Sara looked confused for a moment and then she realized the assumption that Vicki had made.

“No, no,” Sara responded, “I didn’t have a…vision. But I felt what they were doing to him. I felt his pain.” She shut her eyes and stifled a sob, gulping it back down like medicine. She shook her head, eyes still shut, adding, “It was terrible.” Vicki blinked hard, her own eyes filling with tears. She nodded and said, “You’re right. It’s one thing when we hurt ourselves or even each other. But we had no right to hurt Devian, whether we meant to or not.” Sara took a deep, shuddering breath. She turned on the chair until she looked directly at Vicki. “I need to say this to you first,” she said softly, “I’ll say it to Dev as well when I see him again. I didn’t tell you the truth. I lied when I said that I didn’t want him. I’ve wanted him almost from the beginning. I want nothing more in this moment than to be holding him safe and secure in my arms. I love Devian every bit as much as I love Ian. I love them both. If that makes me a bad person, so be it. If that makes me wanton, then I guess I am. I’m not going to run away from my feelings or from him any more. I love Dev.” Now, Vicki pulled in a long breath too. “So do I,” she murmured, “I love him too. It’s not just lust; it really isn’t.” There was a long pause before she added, “But that doesn’t really mean much of anything in the greater scheme of things because he doesn’t love me. He loves you. And it has become obvious to me that my feelings for him have brought him harm – something I would never intentionally do. I realize that I have to let go. I have to do what both Ian and Gabe have already told me to do. I have to move on.”

Sara stood and opened her arms to her friend. “I know. I’m sorry,” she murmured. Vicki stood too and walked into Sara’s embrace. “I’m sorry too,” she agreed, “The person that really deserves our apologies though is Dev. I hope to god we get to give them to him.” Vicki felt Sara shiver, but she replied, “We will. I’ve got to believe that we will. I can’t stand to think anything else.” Vicki looked at the coffee mug she had set on the bedside table. She gave a sharp snort of laughter. “Well, shit,” she said, “I brought you some decaf and never gave it to you. I bet it’s cold now.” Sara laughed too. “That’s okay,” she responded, “It was a nice gesture. Why don’t we both go down and get some more?” Vicki nodded, starting for the door. “Maybe Ian will tell me his plan now,” she said, “He wanted us to make peace so that we didn’t screw things up with our squabbling.” Following her friend out the door and down the stairs, Sara asked, “Ian has a plan?”

Vicki turned her head, looking at Sara askance over her shoulder. “When have you ever known him not to?” she countered, “He has several pages of paper filled with small writing.” Sara chuckled. “That’s my boy,” she observed, adding, “One of them anyway.” At the bottom of the steps, Vicki stopped and asked Sara, “Can you still feel him? Have you tried?” Sara nodded. “He’s not blocking me any more,” she said, frowning, “It’s hard to explain. He’s there, but he’s not. I think that he’s been drugged.” Vicki eyes shut with relief. “At least he’s still alive,” she whispered. Sara smiled at her and replied, “Of course he’s still alive. Sparky is a fighter. Let’s go get some coffee and see how Ian plans to get him back.” When they entered the kitchen, they found Ian and Gabe sitting together at the table pouring over the several pages of notes that Ian had compiled. Both men looked up as they came in. Ian’s eyes met Sara’s. His golden gaze warmed her like a fire on a chilly evening. He gave her his special grin. “You look better,” he decided. Sara smiled ruefully. “I certainly hope so,” she said, “The last time you saw me awake I was bent over the toilet puking my guts up.” Gabriel cleared his throat. “What a charming picture,” he teased her, “Thank you so much for putting it in my head.” As she poured herself a fresh cup of decaf, Sara turned her head to look at him over her shoulder. “That’s me,” she countered, “The very model of charm and deportment…even when I’m kneeling on the bathroom floor at three in the morning.” Gabe frowned and asked, “Bad night?” She carried her coffee back to the table and sat. “I’ve had better,” she decided, adding, “I imagine that Ian has too.”

Ian studied her across the table. “I didn’t mind,” he assured her. Sara turned to Vicki and said, “The man has the patience of a saint.” Vicki smiled, sipping fresh coffee. “Are you trying to test that out?” she asked. Sara grinned. “I can see how it might seem that way,” she acknowledged. Ian reached across the table to take her hand. “I didn’t mind,” he repeated, his voice a bit more emphatic. Sara nodded. “Okay,” she replied, “I believe you.” She paused for a moment, then added, “I hear that you have a plan.” He drew his hand back and picked up the sheaf of paper in front of him. “I have several actually,” he responded. When Sara tilted her head, studying him quizzically, he amplified, “The main plan depends on creating a couple of diversions.” Her eyes widened. “Ah,” she wisely commented, then added, “What the hell does that mean?” Ian smiled and explained, “We want to keep Kendall occupied on a couple of different fronts; we have to try to draw his attention away from the mansion.” She nodded, following that. “Okay,” she said. Ian inclined his head toward Gabriel. “One diversion is our resident computer genius,” he told her. Gabriel grinned and interjected, “I’m going to give him a virus. It’s going to be a real doozy. I think it will get his attention.” Sara nodded. “That’s one diversion,” she pointed out, “What’s the other?” Ian dropped his head and cleared his throat. Sara studied her lover with a frown, knowing him well. “Why do I get the feeling that I’m not going to like this?” she asked rhetorically.

Ian sighed. “Because you’re not,” he mumbled. Her frown deepened. “Look at me, Nottingham,” she ordered. His head lifted. The big, golden eyes were wary. “Spit it out,” she suggested. Ian spread his hands and pointed out, “We’re just spread too thin. I needed someone to lead a second raiding party. That’s the other diversion – a raid on the offsite lab in Connecticut.” She looked startled. “Where are you getting a raiding party?” she asked. He shrugged. “I’m using some Notties that have had combat training,” he explained, adding, “But they’re followers. They needed a leader.” She shook her head, annoyed, and said, “Stop pussy footing. Who is it?” There was a long, pregnant pause before he softly replied, “Hector Mobius.” Sara’s green, green eyes went huge. “Mobius?” she responded, shocked, “The Black Dragon that you recruited to kill me? I thought he was dead.” Gabriel and Vicki looked at each other, aghast. “Whoa,” Gabe observed, appalled. Turning to Ian, he asked, “You recruited some guy to kill Sara?” Ian waved a negligent hand, not wanting to get into it. “It’s a long story,” he replied, “I wasn’t myself.” Vicki and Gabriel shared another quick look. She smiled. “Well, that kind of makes me look like a girl scout,” she observed, “So, who is this guy?”

Sara pushed a nervous hand through her tangled locks. “One very big, very scary dude who’s supposed to be dead,” she responded. Then, asked Ian, “Why isn’t he?” Ian shrugged and murmured, “Black Dragons are hard to kill.” Gabe snickered. “Is it me?” he asked, “Or does that sound like bad dialog from a low budget kung fu flick.” Ian shot him a sharp, piercing look and Gabriel quickly shut up. He cleared his throat, folding his hands in front of him on the table and dropping mischievous dark eyes. “God, I miss Dev,” Gabe thought, “He would have loved that line.” Shifting his attention back to the conversation, he realized that Sara was asking, “How did you know where to find him? Have you two been in touch all this time? How do you know that we can trust him to help us? From what I remember, his tool chest was missing a few screws.” Ian looked pained. He had known when he had asked Mobius for help that it was going to create issues with Sara. Still, it wasn’t as if they had a lot of options open to them. The list of people that they could call on for assistance was severely limited. “In spite of what happened at that warehouse, Mobius is my friend,” Ian explained, “We’ve known each other a long time, been through a lot together. I have and I do trust him with my life. And, he has no love for Irons – any Irons. The man is a genius. If he has a few eccentricities, well…who doesn’t?” Sara made a rude sound. “A few eccentricities?” she scoffed, eyebrow lifted. Vicki looked interested. “What kind of eccentricities?” she asked.

Sara rudely waved her quiet. “Okay,” she said, turning her attention back to Ian, “So you’re going to try to redirect Irons’ attention by giving him some diversions to deal with. Gabriel is going to send him a virus that plays hell with the Vorschlag computer network. At the same time, Mobius is going to lead a band of commando Notties in a raid on the offsite lab in Connecticut. While all that is going on, I assume that we’re going to infiltrate the mansion to rescue Dev and kidnap Immo. Yes? How?” Ian cleared his throat while he gathered his thoughts. “There’s a secret passage into the underground laboratories,” he replied, “Only my master and I knew of its existence. It served as emergency egress from the mansion when all other lines of escape were blocked.” Sara frowned. “Wait a minute,” she said, “Kenneth Irons knew about this secret escape route?” Ian nodded. “Well, doesn’t that mean that Kendall would know about it too?” she asked, “Didn’t the clone inherit all of its knowledge from the original?” This time, Ian shook his head. “Not necessarily,” he explained, “Dev has most of my common knowledge and abilities, but it’s really just the broad strokes – enough to give him a jumpstart in accumulating his own experience. I don’t believe that such an arcane piece of information would have been passed from my master to Kendall.” Sara’s hand clenched into a fist. “Stop calling him that,” she hissed. Ian looked at a loss for a moment. “Sorry?” he asked. She grimaced. “Stop calling Irons your ‘master’.” The confusion cleared from his face. In the heat of the moment, Ian had forgotten how much Sara hated it when he called Kenneth Irons his master.

Redirecting her thoughts, Sara asked, “But you can’t be sure that Kendall isn’t aware of this secret passage, can you?” Ian shrugged. “Not absolutely sure. No,” he agreed, “But I’ve had one of the Notties check it out. It’s not being guarded; the area around it has fallen into disrepair. There is every indication that the route is undetected and safe.” Now, Sara shrugged, surrendering her objections with a lopsided grin. “Bottom line is that we don’t have any other choice,” she said, “Right?” Ian spread his hands, returning her grin. “Right,” he agreed. She nodded crisply. “What are our assignments?” she asked. Ian inclined his head toward Gabriel and said, “Gabriel will stay here working with the computers.” He had already talked to Gabe about this and, although the young man was not happy about being kept so far from the center of the action, he did understand the necessity and his role in the master plan. “What about me?” Vicki asked. Ian studied her. The petite doctor’s skill was as a physician; she had no combat training or expertise with a weapon. “You will come along but wait in the car during the raid,” he continued, “It’s likely that Devian will need a doctor.” Accepting that, Vicki nodded.

Sara smiled at her lover. “So, it’s just you and me,” she said. Ian smiled back at her and agreed, “Just you and me. I’ll need you to guard Immo; keep the Witchblade at his jugular to ensure his cooperation. My hands will be occupied. I’ll probably have to carry Dev out of there.” She frowned. “I don’t guess that we have any idea what we’ll encounter once we get in, do we?” she asked. Ian shook his head. “I know the layout of the underground laboratories, of course,” he responded, “I can diagram it for you and you can study it to gain some familiarity. But we won’t know how Dev is being guarded; how many of Irons’ thugs we’ll have to deal with.” Sara considered that before she asked, “What time are we going in?” There was another pause. They weren’t going to like this either, Ian thought. “In the quiet hours of the morning,” he replied, “Around 1:00 A.M.” Simultaneously, Sara and Vicki yelped an outraged, “What?!” The women looked at each other, then Sara added, “You want to leave Dev in their hands for another full day and evening. Will there be any point in a rescue? He’ll be dead by then.” Ian returned the stares directed at him grimly. “No,” he disputed, “He won’t. If Kendall only wanted him dead, Devian would be dead already. He wants information and he’ll keep Dev alive until he gets it.” Vicki studied Ian’s closed expression. She couldn’t just let it rest there. “But they’ll keep torturing him until they get that information, won’t they?” she asked. His voice didn’t change when he admitted, “Yes. They will.”

They were all surprised when Gabriel chimed in, “It can’t be helped. There are only two of you. You have to go in when there are likely to be the fewest guards on duty. Ian’s right.” Sara shut her eyes, remembering the pain that she had briefly shared with Devian the night before. When she again opened her eyes, they were bleak, like dull, green glass. “I wish…,” she began, but left the desire unfinished. Ian’s equally troubled gaze met hers. “I know,” he agreed, “So do I. But Dev is very strong and he has a stubborn streak a mile wide. He’ll fight them every step of the way.” There was a long pause before he added, “So that he can, I need you to do something else.” Sara returned his searching look warily. “What is it?” she asked. The tawny eyes softened under her regard. “I need you to learn how to block out his pain yourself so that he doesn’t have to do it for you,” Ian said, “That sort of effort will weaken him and he’ll need all of his strength.” Sara relaxed, eager now to do anything she could to ease the clone’s torment. “Of course,” she responded, “Will you teach me?” Ian nodded, adding, “We’ll go through it right after breakfast. Okay?” She smiled and replied, “Sure.” Their leader began gathering his papers together. The briefing session was obviously over. When he had a neat pile of sheets in front of him, Ian studied each of their faces individually, as if judging the mettle of his little army. Finally, he said, “Good,” as if they had passed his rigorous inspection. Sara’s glance tripped over Vicki’s and the women shared a secret, feminine smile.

At the safe house, the day passed quickly. Ian worked with Sara for a couple of hours and she mastered the ability to block her connection to Devian. With some practice, she reached a point where she could raise a wall and keep it effortlessly in place. That done, she went down to the small exercise room in the basement of the brownstone and knocked the hell out of the punching bag to keep her mind off the captive clone and her role in delivering him into the torture that he was suffering. Gabriel adjourned to the office and threw himself into the creation of a virulent computer virus. No one saw him for the rest of the day. Vicki packed and repacked her medical bag. She got a recovery room ready for Dev with medical equipment prepared and positioned for every contingency. Just in case, she took some blood from Ian so that she would have it ready and waiting if a transfusion was necessary. When all that was done, she retired to her room where she dropped on the bed exhausted and took a nap. Ian reviewed his notes, called his foot soldiers and his general, ensured that everyone would be in their proper place and that they knew their individual responsibilities. In short, Ian obsessed as he was wont to do. In spite of all that diversion, when the torture started again, it caught them unaware.

At the mansion, the day had been quiet and tense because Kendall Irons’ displeasure was palpable throughout the entire structure. Things were not going his way. Last night, his pricy, imported torturer had botched Devian’s interrogation. Without extracting any information – useful or otherwise – from the blasted clone, Silk had lashed him into insensibility. Then, compounding that incompetence, Immo had so oversedated Nottingham that he remained unconscious far into the afternoon of the following day. Though Irons strongly suggested that the doctor give the languishing clone a stimulant, Immo insisted that pushing his circulatory system from one extreme to the other in such a brief period of time could send Dev into convulsions; perhaps even into cardiac arrest because of the recent shock to his body from the torture. The doctor baldly stated that, if he was forced to administer such a course of medication, he could not be held responsible for the results. Feigning unconcern, Immo then delivered the clincher. He reminded Kendall that a corpse could not answer questions. Although suspicious of Immo’s motives, Kendall could divine no reason why the doctor would lie to him. He hesitated because Devian was a treasure trove of information. Handled properly, the clone could be extremely useful. Irons did not want to waste a golden opportunity through nothing more than his own impatience. No longer willing to leave Devian in the hands of subordinates, Kendall decided to set aside a few hours that evening to supervise the torture session himself.

Before the clone fully regained consciousness, Kendall had him moved from the cot to a new specially-designed steel chair that was bolted securely into the stone floor of the torture chamber. As the sun dropped below the horizon, Devian pushed his way back to awareness as if he were stroking to the surface of a pond through thick, murky water. The first thing to capture his full attention was the pain. It sat on his lacerated back like a great, greedy beast and began to feed. Radiating upward, it spread in a pulsating red sheet across his brain and crouched behind his closed eyes. It swallowed him whole. In the few moments during which he let the misery claim him, the clone felt sharp despair; an aching regret for all the things that he would never get to do or know – chief among them, discovering the sweet completion of finally winning Sara’s love or of seeing the face of his newborn child. Then, characteristically, he started to get mad. After all, who the fuck were these assholes anyway to take those things away from him. Just some emotionally constipated billionaire megalomaniac on a psychotic power trip and his sadistic, pigment-challenged lackey. Well, fuck them! Instead of giving in, Dev started to fight back. First, he gingerly tested his connection to Sara. When he found that he was blocked from her side, he loosed a tiny sigh of relief. Knowing that his brother must have schooled Sara in protecting herself from his pain, the clone didn’t even bother to test his link to Ian. He simply accepted that his lady and his brother could protect themselves; that meant that he could now give his full attention to building his own defenses and, maybe, getting the hell out of there.

Devian had woken to pain and it was a good bet that there was a shitload more of it to come. If he focused on it, gave it his full attention, then the pain would win. It would master him. So, Dev put his mind somewhere else. He opened his eyes and began to study the room, the bindings that held him, and the slender man standing in the shadows laying out the tools of his trade. Ignoring the pain, the clone began to put his extraordinary mind to the problem of escape. Feeling those distinctive golden eyes boring through his back, Colin Silk turned and gave Dev his chilly smile. “Ah,” he observed, “You’re awake. Good evening.” Dev didn’t bother answering the man. What was the point? He glared back at the torturer silently while he flexed his left ankle to test the strength of the leather strap securing it to the chair. When he found that there was some give to it, the clone’s sensual lips quirked in his cocky grin. The albino paused in the act of gliding across the room to stare at his victim. That confident grin was a bit unnerving. Colin came closer but kept his distance. Devian turned his attention to his right ankle; although that strap was tighter, it was not impossible either.

“How do you feel, Devian?” Colin asked solicitously. The clone studied his torturer through narrowed eyes of molten gold. “Groggy,” he responded. The albino waved his long, dead white fingers deprecatingly. “Yes,” he agreed, “You were overmedicated. We’ve lost a full day together. We will have to make up for lost time tonight.” Although his facial muscles were tight with pain, Dev forced his mouth into a charming smile. “Don’t put yourself out on my account,” he replied, “I’ll be fine on my own. I’m good at entertaining myself.” The torturer laughed, gliding a bit closer. Dev studied him carefully, trying to get a sense of his movement patterns and storing that information away for later use. “It is no trouble, I assure you,” Colin said, still chuckling good naturedly, “Your pain is, after all, my pleasure. And, we will have company for tonight’s festivities. My employer has decided to take a hand at questioning you.” Dev’s eyes widened slightly. He tilted his head and observed, “You and Immo must have really screwed up for the old man to want to come down here and dirty his hands.” That jibe hit a little too close to home. The albino’s thin lips all but disappeared in displeasure. “You want to watch your mouth, boy,” he hissed, his accent more pronounced. Ah, Dev thought, the gloves are coming off now. Devian started to shrug but the agony that immediately lanced through his torn back quickly stopped the gesture. “Or what?” the clone sneered, “You’ll hurt me?”

The torturer was laughing, good humor restored when the door to the chamber hissed open and Kendall Irons entered. Devian got a taste of what Sara must feel in comparing him to Ian. Kendall was so like the old man, Dev thought, and yet, not. It was in the eyes and what was going on behind them. Kenneth Irons had had a spark of something warmer, gentler, more humane, than the frigid wasteland behind Kendall’s pale blue orbs. It was the difference between the dead of winter and the thaw of early spring. Nothing good could grow inside the tall, regal man slowly approaching him. His soul was fallow. The torturer backed off, allowing his employer to take control of the session. Kendall stopped between Devian’s spread knees and stretched out a long, elegant hand to grasp his chin. Gripping firmly, Irons turned Dev’s face toward the light. “Amazing,” he murmured, “How much you look like Nottingham.” Dev jerked his head to try to free himself from Irons’ grip but Kendall’s fingers tightened. Devian ground his teeth and growled, “You should know. After all, you’re the spitting image of the old man.” Irons made a sound that might have been a laugh and released Dev. He walked slowly to a table on which a wide variety of evil-looking devices were neatly spread. Irons turned and looked at the albino. “His hand,” he suggested, “The left one.”

Colin nodded and glided to the left side of the chair in which Devian was strapped. “There are 27 bones in the human hand,” the albino explained, as if he were giving an anatomy lecture, “Fertile ground for the art of torture.” With casual grace, Colin bent forward and broke the ring finger of Dev’s left hand. It gave a sharp crack in the still arm of the room, like a dry twig breaking. The clone’s whole body went rigid, long muscles standing out in sharp relief. His eyes shut and a thin line of blood began to course toward his chin from where Dev had bitten through his lip. He did not, however, make a sound. Irons nodded and the torturer stepped back into the shadows again. “Now that I have your attention,” Kendall drawled, “I would like to know how you roamed at will through the halls of Wolfram & Hart. How you appeared to become invisible. Was it the ring? Was it Nottingham’s ring?” Awash in pain, Devian fought to master his voice. He didn’t want it to emerge as a squeak. “What ring?” the clone asked, his voice only slightly strained, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Kendall sighed dramatically and nodded at Colin. The torturer stepped forward and economically broke the middle finger on Devian’s left hand. The clone’s forehead beaded with sweat and a wave of nausea swept through him. Bile hit the back of his throat but he ruthlessly pushed it back down. The pain was huge. Devian tentatively tested the darkness that was now lapping at the edges of his mind. He was wondering if he could safely go there, if he could come back, when there was a soft knock on the door.

Irons’ head swung around and he called, “Yes? What is it?” The door opened just far enough for Dr. Immo to stick his head inside. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said hesitantly, “Is this a bad time?” Irons simply looked at the old man. He did not even try to disguise his irritation. “What is it?” Irons repeated sharply. Immo cleared his throat, his eyes darting to Dev before they came back to rest on Kendall. “I took some blood from Devian and ran some tests,” he explained, “The results are…curious. I thought you might be interested but I can see that this is a bad time.” The doctor started to pull back, to shut the door, but he had, as he had intended, piqued Irons’ interest. “Wait!” Irons ordered. Immo poked his head back into the torture chamber. “Can you make it quick?” Kendall asked. The doctor held up a conciliatory hand. “Of course,” he assured his employer, adding with a winsome smile, “Quick like a bunny.” Irons looked at the elderly doctor as if he had grown a horn through the center of his forehead. “What?” he asked. Immo shook his head and replied, “I can show you quickly. If you would just step into the laboratory…?” Giving the doctor a curt nod, Kendall glanced briefly at Dev and then turned to face Colin. “You can break a couple of his ribs,” he suggested, “Nothing near a lung. Then, let him think about the pain while you wait for me. I won’t be long.” The torturer dipped his head in acknowledgement, his hot pink eyes glowing in the dim light of the room. Irons followed the doctor into the laboratory next door.

Colin gracefully crossed the room to stand in front of the table on which the tools of his craft were arrayed. With one long, pale finger stroking his thin lower lip, the albino studied the options available to him. He smiled and lifted a short, stout cane. Holding it in one hand, he ran the fingers of his other hand lingeringly over its surface, the way that a lover might stroke the smooth hip of his mistress. Still smiling, the albino glided back across the floor to stop in front of the clone. Devian’s head had dropped to his chest. His dark curls were tight against his head, soaked through with sweat. “Are you still with me, Devian?” the torturer crooned. The clone lifted his head with an effort. His wide, golden eyes were dull and glazed with pain. “Ah, good,” Colin murmured, “I wanted to be sure that you were right here with me before I did this.” With uncanny speed, the albino snapped the small, thick cane forward with deadly force against Devian’s right side. There was another sharp crack as two of the clone’s lower ribs broke. This time, Dev was unable to hold it together. He screamed with agony. Colin sighed. His look of satisfaction suggested that he was listening to a Beethoven symphony rather than to a cry of pain. Smiling beatifically, the albino strode smoothly across the room and slipped into a chair to await the return of his employer. His too white fingers continued stroking the stout cane as if he were masturbating; his ruby red eyes never leaving the tautly stretched body of the suffering clone.

Finally pushed too far, Devian let his mind detach to take him elsewhere. During the long span of time that he had lived alone in his aerie atop the mansion, Dev had become quite adept at escaping to the fantasy world in his head. He went there now as if he were coming home again after a long trip abroad. The clone deliberately ignored what he had overheard Sara tell Vicki the last time that he had seen her; he couldn’t deal with that now. Instead, he returned to one of his favorite fantasies. In the world that he created in his head, he and Sara were living together and she loved him as much as he loved her. His brother was a part of his fantasy world – one of Devian’s rules was to keep it as real as possible. Sara still loved Ian too and lived with him as well. But, in the clone’s fantasy, Ian was always away on a business trip so that he had the Wielder all to himself. And, this time, he added a new element; he added their child to the fantasy. Sara had gone back to work after the birth of their baby. He worked at home. Sometimes he was really clear about what he did for a living; sometimes he wasn’t. This time, he let it go because it wasn’t necessary to make the fantasy more vivid. The baby was down for a nap, sleeping peacefully, and he was cooking dinner – just like he had that first night that he had spent with Sara, when he was pretending to be Ian. She would be coming home from work at any minute.

It was their one-year anniversary; exactly one year since they had moved in together and Sara had told him for the first time that she loved him. Dev was in the kitchen wearing an apron over a pair of jeans. He was making all of her favorites for dinner. They were back at the loft because Irons had been defeated and it was safe again to be there. Besides, that was the physical location where it was easiest for him to picture Sara. They had turned the spare bedroom where he had first made love to her into a nursery. Devian heard her key turn in the lock and his heart started to race. He turned down the heat under the big pot of spaghetti and headed for the door to kiss her hello. When he got there, she was just pulling off her shoulder holster and slipping her gun into the drawer of the hall table. Eyes hungry, Sara devoured him slowly from the tip of his tousled mop of curls down to his bare feet. Under her lazy, green gaze, he could feel himself getting hard. Idly, he thought that he should have turned that heat off under the spaghetti instead of just turning it down. She grinned at him and his heart did a little flip. “I like the apron,” she told him, “It’s a good look for you.” He grinned back at her. “Want to take it off me?” he asked. She stepped forward and slipped her hand beneath the apron, rubbing it over the rapidly growing bulge in his jeans. “Oh yeah,” she breathed. He groaned softly, moving closer to push hard against the hand that cupped him securely. “Go ahead then,” he dared her. She gave him a little squeeze and he realized that he was already wet with desire. “What about dinner?” she asked. He bent to kiss her, whispering just before his lips ravished hers, “It’ll keep.”

As soon as they had entered the laboratory, Kendall had turned to the doctor and said, “Very well. What are these curious results?” Immo cleared his throat nervously. He had just wanted to stop the carnage. Now that he had Irons’ attention, he hoped that he could redirect it to spare the clone more damage. “It is Devian’s DNA,” he replied, “It has been altered. He is no longer technically Ian’s clone. His DNA is now unique to him.” Irons frowned. The doctor had captured his attention alright. “How is that possible?” he asked. Immo shrugged. “I can only think of one possibility,” he responded. Kendall’s eyes widened. “The Witchblade,” he breathed, “The Witchblade joined with him somehow; tapped into his bloodstream and altered his genetic composition.” The old doctor nodded. “That would be my suspicion,” he agreed. Kendall began to stalk around the small room like a hungry tiger. “How?” he asked, “The Blade will not allow itself to be wielded by a male and Sara Pezzini still wears it. How did it access the clone’s blood?” Immo shrugged. “I have no idea,” he replied. Kendall rubbed his hands together slowly. “Well,” he mused softly, “That is yet another question that I have to put to Nottingham’s clone. It promises to be a very long night.” As Irons was turning to leave, the doctor pointed out, “You realize, of course, that now Devian also has the regenerative gene in his blood. His blood has now become as valuable as the Wielder’s for granting longevity.” Kendall halted and turned back, his piercing blue eyes speculative.

“Is the baby sleeping?” Sara asked him when they came up for air. Dev nodded. “Why don’t you go in to see her while I turn off the heat under the spaghetti?” he suggested huskily. Her eyes lit up. “You made spaghetti?” she asked. He nodded, giving her a little push toward the baby’s room. “Go on,” he said, “I’ll be right there.” After turning off the stove, he came quietly into the nursery to find Sara leaning over the crib staring at their sleeping daughter. That picture was so vivid in his mind that all his pain disappeared. All he felt was a delicious flutter in his stomach watching his love look down at their child. He came up behind Sara and slipped his arms around her waist. As Devian gazed at his little girl sleeping soundly in her crib, a depth and quality of love that was entirely new filled him. Mags was six months old and she looked exactly like Sara, except for her big, golden eyes. She got those from her Daddy. His daughter’s full name was Magdalena Christine Pezzini-Nottingham but he had called her Mags almost from the day that she was born. She and her mother were the twin suns around which he revolved as a happy, devoted satellite. He would do anything to please them; he would withstand any trial to be the perfect husband and father that they deserved. He would…

The pain came roaring back with shocking speed and his carefully constructed fantasy world evaporated, disintegrating like a fragile bubble against the jagged edges of his agony. The albino stepped back, retracting the cane from its quick jab into the clone’s broken ribs. As Dev’s dazed, unfocused eyes flashed open, the torturer smiled at his prey. “Ah,” he murmured, “There you are. I felt you drifting away from me, Devian, and we can’t have that now, can we?” The clone started to pull in a deep, hitching breath but pulled up short on a ragged gasp as the misery from his damaged ribs gripped him in its vise. Colin’s rictus grin grew wider. “Oh my, yes,” he observed, “They do hurt you, don’t they, boy? That pain is sharp, isn’t it? Not like the pain in your broken fingers which, by now, has settled into a dull ache. Or the pain in your torn back, which still burns like a low simmering fire. So many different degrees of agony and we’ve only just begun.” Through the red haze once again spreading across his brain, Dev fought to refocus. He channeled his faltering energy into his left foot and put more pressure on the weakening leather binding securing his ankle. He felt it shift with a subtle, creaking sound which was fortuitously covered by the opening chamber door as Irons returned. Devian felt the leather snap as the door slammed shut and Kendall Irons asked, “Now, where were we?”

When Devian had woken at sundown to the waiting pain, Ian and Sara had felt him; both he and the pain had slowly emerged as his awareness grew sharper. And, dutifully, they had raised their walls against it, locking them securely in place. As it turned out, that was a very good thing because, when the torture started again, it rocked them to their cores, even with their barriers erected. It was not so much the pain itself; the amount that leaked past the safeguards was minimal. It was knowing what it must be like for the clone, who was unprotected. It was imagining what that raw agony must be doing to Devian that wore Ian and Sara thin and spilled over to affect the others near them. As the evening passed, they felt Devian’s torture progress in the increasingly severe jolts that struck their buffers. Uncharacteristically, it was Ian who broke first. Proving his depth of feeling for his little brother, he strode into the small office where Gabriel was working at 8:30, an hour and a half ahead of schedule. After fidgeting quietly for a moment, Ian asked Gabriel if the virus could be unleashed a little early. Gabe’s expression turned grim. He knew that Dev must be in bad shape to make Ian change his carefully laid plan. He stared up into troubled, golden eyes and came to a sudden decision, “Another half hour and we’ll be good to go.” After a tense pause, Gabriel asked, “Will he last that long?”

Ian managed a pained smile. “Sparky?” he said, using Sara’s pet name for the clone because it seemed appropriate, “Sure. He’ll last. I’m not so sure about me though.” Gabe grinned. “You’ll be fine,” he assured himself as much as Ian, “You both will. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m ready.” Ian nodded and left him to it. He wandered into the living room and sat on the sofa. Across from him in the big, leather club chair, Sara was hunched over with her legs tucked under her and her arms wrapped tightly around her body. Eyes shut; she rocked slowly back and forth. Watching her, Ian said softly, “We’re going a little earlier than originally planned.” She hugged herself harder, not opening her eyes, and whispered, “Thank god.” Ian reached over and brushed his knuckles across her cheek. “He’ll be alright,” he soothed. Sara made a small sound deep in her throat; a sort of worried hum. “I hope so,” she replied in a tiny voice. He studied the tense set of her shoulders. “Can you feel it?” he asked. She shook her head. “No,” she murmured, “Not really. The method that you taught me is working. I’m safe behind my wall.” Now, her eyes opened and met his. She was obviously very upset. “But I can still tell that he’s badly hurt,” she added.
Ian nodded. He understood because he could feel it too, even with the barrier firmly in place. It was very difficult to be aware of Dev’s pain and to be able to do nothing concrete to alleviate it. “Hang on,” he told her, “We’ll get him out soon. I promise.” She gave her head a brief shake. “I’m not the one who has to hold on,” she pointed out. Ian nodded. “I know,” he replied, “I know. I need to make some calls. We’ll leave here at eleven-thirty instead of twelve-thirty. Okay?” Sara gave him a quick smile and nodded.

Ian made his calls and alerted Vicki that they were pushing up the schedule. Having sensed the tension around her and its cause, she was all for it. She and Ian were coming back downstairs when they heard Gabriel’s victory cry. Ian grinned as he and both women pushed into the now-crowded office. “Is it ready?” Ian asked, feeling the excitement he always felt when the action was about to start. Gabe swung around in his chair, beaming, “Oh yeah,” he crowed, “This baby is about to be born.” His gaze shifted to Sara. He indicated the Enter key and asked, “What do you say, Chief? Do you want to do the honors?” Sara blinked. “This is really going to fuck up all of Irons’ networks?” she asked, “Not just Vorschlag but everything he’s got his nasty fingers in?” Gabriel nodded. “Yeah,” he assured her, “It should. That’s why it took so long to craft. I had to code all the connections and there was a shitload of them.” She gave him an answering grin. “It would be my pleasure,” she replied. Stretching out one stiff finger, she pressed down the Enter key decisively. Gabe threw back his arm as if he were riding a bronco and yelled, “YeeeHaaawww!!!!”

Ian took a quick glance at his watch. “Irons will have an hour to try to deal with the virus that’s attacking all of his systems before Moby’s unit hits the offsite lab,” he explained, “The offsite lab uses a direct radio link to the mansion so he should learn of the raid almost as soon as it begins. The radio is in the Communications Center on the first floor. If he’s in the underground lab with Dev when the news of the attack comes in, it should bring him back upstairs. If we’re lucky, he may even send some of the security forces from the mansion to Connecticut to serve as reinforcements.” Vicki glanced at her own watch. “What time do we leave for the mansion again?” she asked. Ian frowned. He was thinking that she should have remembered that; he didn’t need his small force to be scattered mentally. “We leave here at eleven-thirty,” he reminded her, “Sara and I go into the tunnel at midnight.” She nodded. “How long do you expect to be inside?” she asked. He glanced at Sara before he responded, “No more than half an hour at the most. I’m hoping that we can find both Dev and Immo quickly. If everything goes according to the plan, there should be very few guards for us to neutralize because they’ll be busy elsewhere. The goal is to get in and out as quickly as possible.” Sara made a doubtful sound. “And when does anything ever go according to the plan,” she scoffed. Ian shrugged. “No point in borrowing trouble,” he suggested, “Let’s hope that this plan proves to be the exception to the rule.”

In the dimly lit torture chamber, Irons had just returned with an imperious, “Now, where were we?” when the phone on the wall beside the door gave a piercing ring. Kendall looked startled. He had left explicit instructions that he did not want to be disturbed. Frowning, Irons reached the phone in two long strides and picked up the receiver. “Yes?” he asked, displeasure evident in his tone. He listened to the caller for a good half minute when he said sharply, “Control yourself. Calm down. Speak more slowly. How many systems are affected?” There was another long pause, before he added. “What? How can that be? What about the security functions that are supposed to block such intrusion?” Irons’ frown had deepened and he was working up to a full-blown snit. “Keep on it,” he barked, “I want a report from the head of system security in five minutes. With the kind of money that I pay you people, this sort of thing should not have been able to happen. Get on it! Five minutes.” He hung up the phone with a resounding bang and swung around. He studied Devian briefly, as if he was coming to a decision. Irons shifted his gaze to Silk who had returned to sit stiffly in the hard-backed chair by one of the tables. The torturer still absently stroked the short cane that he had used to damage the clone.

Watching Silk’s long, dead-white fingers, Kendall’s lips thinned in an expression of distaste. “Something has come up,” Irons said shortly, “We need to take a short break while I take care of it.” Irons lips curved slightly as he realized the unintentional pun he had just uttered. The albino stood fluidly and extended a hand, almost imploringly. “I could continue on my own,” he suggested. Remembering the fiasco of the night before, Irons shook his head. “No,” he replied, “I think not. You will wait until I can join you again.” His cold blue eyes moved back to the semiconscious Devian. “He’ll keep,” Kendall observed, “He’s not going anywhere. Be patient. In spite of a shaky start, I imagine that he will last a long time if we exercise some care. I intend to have the answers to my questions. I require them. I won’t have you lose the only opportunity that I may have to get that information.” Even in the low light, Irons could see the albino’s tall, thin frame stiffen. “If you are displeased with my abilities,” Colin hissed, “I can allow you to finish the torture yourself.” The torturer paused significantly before adding, “Sir.” Irons held up his hand. “I don’t have time for this now,” he replied, blithely dismissing Silk’s impromptu resignation, “I am simply telling you to pause the interrogation until I can join you once again. Don’t make a production out of it. I’ll send Immo in to see to him. I’ll return as soon as I am able.”

Not sparing either man another glance, Irons turned on his heel, strode to the door, and left. A couple of moments later, Dr. Immo poked his head tentatively into the room. His eyes fixed on the torturer with trepidation. Silk was again sitting stiffly in his chair. The man gave Irons’ physician the willies. “Mr. Irons wants me to check on the clone,” he explained quietly, “He asked me to verify that his vital signs are stable.” Colin said nothing to the mousy doctor. The man irritated him. Instead, he waved a haughty hand toward Dev’s slouched form, indicating that the old man should just get on with it. Immo scurried into the dark room carrying his medical bag. When he reached Devian, he dropped the bag to the floor with a muted thud. As he reached down to open it and remove the blood pressure cuff, Immo noticed that the leather ankle strap that had been securing the clone’s left ankle had snapped. The doctor awkwardly dropped to his knee, still digging around in his bag. He surreptitiously lifted his eyes to study the clone’s face. Although Dev’s head was lowered, as if he were unconscious, the big, golden eyes were wide open and bright with complicity. Immo met that heated gaze unflinchingly. Still making a show of searching through his bag, the doctor’s hand shifted behind the satchel to test the leather strap securing the clone’s right ankle. It was loose. With a dexterity born of handling scalpels and slides, Immo undid the strap entirely so that both of Devian’s legs were now free. With a theatrical sigh of relief, the doctor pulled the blood pressure cuff from his bag and stood, his knees cracking loudly in the still room.

Glancing down, Immo noticed that Devian’s left hand had grotesquely swollen to almost twice its normal size. He realized that the pale man must have broken one or more of the clone’s fingers. Lips thinning, Dr. Immo wondered what other damage had already been done to the boy. As he worked the blood pressure cuff around Dev’s right bicep, the clone shifted slightly in the iron chair and drew a soft, hissing gasp of air through his teeth. In his attempt to get the cuff in place, Immo had brushed against Devian’s right side. Immo nodded once; some broken ribs as well, he thought. The doctor studied the clone’s blood pressure reading, squinting in the inadequate light. As expected, it was elevated. Still, considering the circumstances and the amount of pain that he must be in, the reading reflected a rather amazing degree of control. Immo had expected nothing less; he better than anyone knew Devian’s abilities. The clone’s head rose slightly and feral golden eyes met timid gray once again. Dev’s glance shifted meaningfully to his right wrist. Immo nodded imperceptibly. When part of some quote about strange bedfellows bounced through Devian’s foggy brain, he stifled a grin at the next thought that Ian would never believe this: Immo shifting sides all on his own. The irony was just too delicious.

When he felt the doctor fumbling with the strap securing his right wrist, Devian covered with a fake cough, leaning forward slightly to block Immo’s brief struggle. Just as a sharp wave of pain stabbed into him from his broken ribs and Dev was forced to sit back, he felt the tension against his right wrist disappear. His hand was free under the loosened strap. The doctor was now making a great show of pressing a stethoscope to Devian’s chest and back. In another moment, his examination was completed and Immo put away his instruments, snapping his bag shut. The old man straightened, picking up the black satchel. “Well? Will he live?” the torturer asked with a dry chuckle. Immo turned to face the albino. He felt goosebumps rise on the flesh of his arms in a combined reaction of distaste and fear. “Yes. He will,” Immo replied softly, “If he is allowed to.” Colin chuckled again. The doctor was at a loss to grasp what the torturer found so humorous in their current situation. “That is not up to you or me, doctor,” Silk reminded him, “His life now belongs to our employer. But then it always did, didn’t it – in one form or another?” Devian made a rude sound. “My life is my own, you sick fuck,” Dev croaked, “I don’t ‘belong’ to anyone.” In his head, the clone immediately disputed his own statement because it wasn’t true. He did belong to someone; he belonged to Sara. But they didn’t need to know that. And, besides, she didn’t want him. She had offered him to Vicki like a breath mint; like a meaningless object that you share; not a person with valid feelings of his own. That memory brought a fresh slap of pain that had nothing to do with his broken body. It hurt worse than anything the albino could do to him.

“Stop it,” Devian told himself, “Focus, you ass. There’s time enough for self-pity once you manage to get out of this mess that you’re in. Pay attention.” He tried but he couldn’t seem to help it; a little voice in the back of his brain kept saying two phrases over and over: “you can have the damn clone and be welcome to him” and “I never wanted him then or now.” Like a broken record, they played in a jagged loop that was rimmed with razors. Those words made him bleed in places Silk could never touch. When Dev’s attention returned, he noticed that Dr. Immo was just leaving the chamber, gently closing the door behind him. On some level, Devian realized that the doctor had suggested that he might provide the clone with some painkillers and that Colin had pointed out that such an action defeated the purpose of his own hard work. That was fine, Dev thought, he didn’t want painkillers anyway; they would dull his edge and he needed to stay sharp. Sharper, he chastised himself – no more drifting. Just because he had at last given up on the future, didn’t mean that he wanted to end his life in a dank, stinking room at the hands of this pale, prancing poofter. He was damned if he would give Irons and his perverted minion that satisfaction. No. He would choose his own place and time. He would wait for his opportunity and take the albino down. Then, he would figure out how to get out of there, taking Immo with him. Once outside, he would call the number that Ian had had them all memorize. If that didn’t work, he would figure something else out. After Immo was in Ian’s hands, he was done. He would get himself as far away from Sara as he could in the hopes that distance weakened the devastating connection between them. Perhaps then he would find out how long it took to drink himself to death; it would no longer matter then, nothing would – whatever dulled the awful pain. But, until then…

In his ornate office in the mansion above, Kendall was alternating between his laptop and cell phone trying to stem the tide of the virus that was sucking the life from all of his interconnected systems. So far, the virus appeared to be winning. Just when he thought that they had closed it down and stopped its insidious spread, the damn thing would pop up somewhere new and re-infect a system that had been cleansed. Eventually, he had dragged experts in from all across his network and, then, they had finally made some headway. The tension had begun to drain from Irons’ body and he was getting ready to return to his private Chamber of Horrors below when cacophony erupted in the hall outside his closed door. His mood tipped back into strong annoyance in record time. “What is it now?” he called out loudly, “What’s the uproar?” There was a cursory knock at the door and then his Head of Site Security stuck his head in the room. The man’s expression was grim. “What’s all the racket out there?” Kendall asked again, his tone peevish. The big man standing in the doorway was no novice. He had been Ian’s second in command and he sorely missed his former leader. “Sorry for the noise, Sir,” he replied crisply, “The offsite lab in Connecticut has been hit.” Irons stood abruptly and papers that had been neatly stacked on the desk flew in lazy spirals to the floor. “What?” he roared rhetorically, then added, “Who?” The man shook his head. “We only have sketchy reports so far,” he replied, “But Jefferson says that the leader is a very large man with a clean-shaven head and a dragon tattoo on his right forearm.” Jefferson was the Head of Security at the offsite lab. He was a new man who was proving to be a bit excitable in a crisis.

There was a pregnant pause while their eyes locked. The man standing in the doorway knew that Mobius was Ian’s comrade and had even occasionally worked with Mobius himself in the past. Kendall, of course, had Kenneth Irons’ vivid memories of Hector Mobius. “I thought that he was dead,” Irons hissed. The Head of Security, whose name was Roger Wilkins, shrugged. “I guess not,” he responded, adding as an afterthought, “Sir.” Like Immo, he was not fond of this new incarnation of Kenneth Irons. Until the creature standing before him had pulled his switcheroo, Wilkins had assumed that he would continue to report to Ian Nottingham, a man that he both trusted and respected. Jefferson was one of the new people that Kendall had brought in. If it had been left to Wilkins, he would have put one of his own people in charge of the offsite facility. He had settled the bland lines of his face into a neutral expression. “You reap what you sow,” Wilkins thought with a good bit of perverse satisfaction. Irons began to pace. “What could Mobius want? What is the purpose of this raid?” he asked. Wilkins shrugged again. “I assume that would be related to the type of research that is being conducted at the facility,” he suggested. Irons stopped pacing, his entire body tensed now in an attitude of extreme attention. His mind was furiously jumping from one conclusion to another. All of Immo’s research into the development of the clones was now housed at the offsite facility.

Irons swung around to face the security man. “I want you to tell Jefferson that that facility must be held at all costs. Any hard evidence of the research being done there must be destroyed before it is allowed to fall into unfriendly hands. Send a small group of our best people to assess the situation and contain it. Then, I want them to shut down that facility and bring everything back here. If moving something is inefficient, it is to be destroyed,” he barked. The orders had been given in a long, staccato string with barely a pause for breath. After drawing air in sharply, Kendall asked, “Do you understand?” Wilkins nodded curtly and replied, “Yes, Sir. I understand.” He had started to turn back toward the door when Irons called, “Wait.” The man turned, waiting politely for further orders. “Has it occurred to you that a second attack here might be immanent?” he asked snidely. Wilkins fought to keep his expression blank. “Actually that was my first thought, Sir,” he replied, “Your safety is, after all, my primary concern. I’ve doubled the guard at all entrances to the mansion.” Irons gave the man a careful smile. “Very good,” he acknowledged, “You may see to Jefferson and the offsite facility now.” Wilkins nodded and left.

Kendall sat back down at the desk and thought for a moment. Then, he picked up the phone and pressed a button that connected him with the underground laboratory. The phone rang several times before Immo finally picked it up with a cautious, “Yes?” Irons briefly thought, not for the first time, that the old doctor had long ago outlived his usefulness. There must be others on the cutting edge of genetic research who had far fewer eccentricities, who were far less irritating. Like Nottingham and Mobius, he was more of Kenneth Irons’ excess baggage. “There’s been a raid at the offsite laboratory,” Kendall said without preamble, “It appears to have been led by Hector Mobius.” The doctor gasped loudly, then replied, “Mobius? But I thought that he was dead.” Irons shut his eyes and swiftly counted to ten. “As did we all,” he murmured, adding, “Did you back up your research as you were told? Did you follow all of the security procedures that I established for you when you moved offsite?” Immo was silent for a moment. He had done that and quite a bit more; he had also established some insurance for himself. That, however, was something that Kendall Irons had no need to know. “Yes, of course,” the doctor responded, “I followed all of your instructions to the letter.” Hearing that reassurance, Irons relaxed a bit. “Titillate me with your insight, doctor,” Irons suggested, “What’s the purpose of this attack?” There was a long pause followed by a sigh. “Perhaps Ian is looking for a scientific flaw in your construction,” Immo finally murmured, “Something that he could exploit.”

The silence on the phone line lengthened until Immo coughed nervously and sputtered, “Kendall? Are you still there?” The tone of voice was icy when Irons replied, “Oh my, yes, doctor. I am still here. Is there a ‘flaw’ in my construction? And, if so, is such a thing documented for anyone to find?” Dr. Immo coughed again and, before he could speak, Irons impatiently asked, “Well?” At his end of the phone line, the old doctor shut his eyes. Not for the first time, he thought of Victor Frankenstein and how he too had come to rue his own creation. Like the fictional scientist, he realized the necessity of escaping his own perverted progeny if he was to survive. Trying to sound offended, Immo responded, “No, of course not. I don’t do shoddy work. I was simply speculating regarding Ian’s motives for such an action.” When he continued, Irons sounded somewhat mollified but still suspicious. “Just remember, doctor, that I am not fond of surprises,” he warned, then changed the subject to ask, “Is Devian holding up under the questioning?” There was a brief pause before Immo said, “He’s stable.” The doctor had considered lying to give the battered clone some breathing room but had been afraid that any deception might backfire. “Very well,” Kendall said, “Between the virus problem and this ridiculous raid, I’m going to be occupied up here for the rest of the evening. Tell Silk that we’re through with Devian for the time being. We will resume the interrogation tomorrow.” Irons hung up without even waiting for a response; he simply assumed that his orders would be followed. The doctor’s lips twisted into a moue of distaste as he hung up the phone. It must be nice to be so assured of your own power, he thought.

Leaving his lab, Immo made his way back to the room where Devian was being held. He took a deep breath before he opened the door. Things were exactly as he had left them. The albino was sitting stiffly in his hard-back chair. His glittering red, eyes had been fixed on the clone; now, they narrowed and shifted to regard the old man poised in the doorway. Dev’s long body lounged limply against the straps in the metal chair. His shaggy head hung down, chin resting on his chest. From where the doctor stood, it was impossible to tell that any of the straps securing Devian to the chair had been loosened. Immo breathed a bit easier and told the torturer, “There have been some problems. In addition to the computer virus, there has been a raid on the offsite laboratory. Mr. Irons has his hands full at the moment. He asked me to tell you that the interrogation is over for the night. He does not want you to continue without him. You will resume the questioning tomorrow in his presence.” There was utter silence for a moment before Colin said softly, “I see.” Immo frowned, unsure of whether the disquieting man in front of him would follow Irons’ instructions. “Do you?” the doctor pressed, “Do you understand that you are to leave the boy alone? Because if you disobey and harm him, I want to be sure that our employer knows that it was not my fault. I do not wish to face his considerable wrath. So, I want to be sure that I have made his instructions to you crystal clear.”

Colin gave the doctor a frosty smile. “Relax, old man,” he hissed, “I understand. You can go now.” Immo wrung his hands. The whole situation felt wrong to him. He had hoped that the torturer would go with him, leaving Devian alone for the night as he had been ordered to do; but that obviously was not the albino’s intention. The pale man left him with a very bad feeling. Under normal circumstances, Immo would have no qualms leaving Devian to his own devices knowing that with both legs and one hand free, the clone was lethal. The circumstances, however, were not normal. Dev was badly hurt; he had several broken bones and his back was a mass of raw, lacerated cuts. Still, what could the doctor do? He could not force Silk to leave and if he pressed the issue further, he would call unwanted attention to himself and most likely change nothing anyway. Dr. Immo hesitated in the doorway, torn. He was pinned there like an insect in a display case when Devian lifted his head to look directly at him. Immo’s eyes widened as he watched the clone’s mouth form a single, silent word: “Go.” The doctor got the message, stopping himself just short of nodding in response. Instead, he shrugged and said dismissively to Colin, “I gave you the message. Do as you please.” He turned suddenly and left, shutting the heavy door firmly behind him. He did not go far though, just in case he was needed – though he had no idea what he might be able to do to come to the aid of the damaged clone.

Inside the dark room, Colin Silk rose smoothly and glided across the room to stop in front of the camera in the corner. He fiddled with it for a moment, obviously blocking the feed. Satisfied that they were now unobserved, he came back to halt inches from Devian. An anticipatory grin flashed across the clone’s lowered face as he prepared himself. “Just you and me now, boyo,” the albino hissed, his accent coming stronger, “My employer wants me to let you be; he’s afraid that I’ll push you too far, damage you too much. But I think that we both know that you’re stronger than that, don’t we? Shall we play a little, you and me? After all, I’ve barely harmed you. I can damage you in ways that he’ll never see. What do you say, pretty? Do you want to play with me?” Those fingers like long, white worms dug into Dev’s curly locks and gripped a thick handful of hair. With a quick tug, the albino yanked the clone’s head up off of his chest so that he could look into the stunning, golden eyes. What he saw wiped the confident cruelty from his face as cleanly as an eraser wipes chalk from a blackboard. The clone was grinning boldly with his characteristic bravado and his wide, tawny eyes sparkled with bright malice. “You bet, asshole,” Dev growled, “I’d love to play with you. Ready?” Colin’s mouth dropped open in shock. The clone’s long, hard-muscled legs shot forward with dazzling speed to wrap around the torturer’s knees, flipping him to the cold, tile floor so hard that he almost bounced.

For a couple of seconds, Colin Silk was still; the air knocked out of him. That brief delay gave Devian enough time to trap one of Colin’s arms beneath the weight of the shoulder and bicep above his damaged left hand. His undamaged right hand immediately wrapped around the albino’s throat and began squeezing the air from him. Silk recovered quickly and began fighting desperately for his life. The torturer was tall and slender. He looked insubstantial but he practically vibrated with wiry strength. He fought hard. Devian had immobilized the albino by pressing his knees brutally into Colin’s thighs, using the superior weight of his fine-muscled body to pin the man to the floor. The only true danger to the clone was the single free arm of the pale man. Because of his broken fingers, Dev had no way to counter Silk’s free appendage. Even worse, the torturer was well versed in how to use those white fingers to create the maximum amount of damage; that loose hand was a formidable weapon. As Devian pressed the breath from his body, Colin stiffened his fingers into a solid block of flesh which he rammed into the clone’s broken ribs. There was a sharp crack as another one of Dev’s ribs broke. The clone grunted, startled by the sudden vicious pain, and his fingers reflexively loosened their grasp on the albino’s neck. Silk tried to press his momentary advantage and flip the determined clone off of him.

With his injuries, Devian realized that he would be at a greater disadvantage the longer their struggle continued. He decided that it was necessary to end it quickly before he began to seriously weaken. The dark haze had begun to clear from the albino’s eyes as oxygen returned to his brain. Now, he pulled his hand from where it was trapped between their bodies with the intention of gouging out those incredible golden eyes next. He never got the chance. Studiously ignoring the burning agony in his side, Devian shifted his body to wrap his forearm around the torturer’s head. With a strong, decisive movement, he twisted Colin Silk’s head sharply, breaking his neck with a loud SNAP! The albino’s red eyes bulged and then glazed over, flat and lifeless. The wiry body beneath Dev went limp as mortality ebbed from it. Just that quickly, it was over. The clone sat hunched over the torturer’s dead body, panting loudly, like a lion guarding a fresh kill. Holding his side and groaning softly, he rolled to the side, tried to get up, didn’t make it, and sat back down on the floor hard a couple of feet away from the body of his nemesis. “Shit,” he moaned to no one in particular. Every breath felt like someone was jabbing him in the side with a burning poker. Just as Dev was wondering whether Immo could be persuaded to help him get them both free of the mansion, the door opened. Devian tensed, praying that it was the doctor. It wasn’t. It was a lot better. It was Ian and Sara was right behind him.