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AUTHOR'S NOTE: If you check my website link below, I now have THREE full color pictures of Jordan. One is in the gif image so that you can see how I visualize his appearance in THIS story.
The second and third are from the sequel to "Slipstream" called "Oculus" in which he is a year older and a freshman in college. You'll also find a link to a blog post I wrote on Kolin and killsuits embedded about halfway down the page. This blog post includes a sexy full color drawing of Kolin modeling in his armor. :)
"Wraith" uses the main characters featured in the science-fiction novel, "Slipstream," but is its own story that I will post in its entirety on Nifty. Both of these tales are based on the events established in the short story, "The Insanity of Zero" (also on the Nifty Archive). If you like Jordan, Kathy, and Kolin, please consider giving "Slipstream" a read.
If you are a reviewer for Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Fictionwise, or would just like to talk about my stories on your blog, please contact me for a complimentary "e"-copy of "Slipstream" in .pdf format.
Here is my author information:
Website: http://slckismet.blogspot.com/p/books.html
Email: kavrik@hotmail.com
Facebook: http://www.facebook.com/pages/Slipstream/164452693676933
Twitter: @MichaelOffutt
Chapter Nineteen
From somewhere in the complex, the distant boom of multiple knocking fists persisted.
Wraith returned a few minutes later with Kolin's killsuit armor and his cibrian sword. He dropped a black plastic garbage bag at Kolin's feet. Kolin knew without asking that it contained Jordan's smelly old clothes.
Kolin knelt and grabbed the sheath. Carefully, he withdrew the masterwork weapon that he had honed his skill upon for seven decades. The cibrian metal when held at an angle to direct white light, created rainbow hues along its mirror surface.
Cibrian inflicted horrible wounds on anything it cut. It could sunder steel, bone, flesh, and even cut glass. Its hardness made it the most difficult metal to mine and process in the entire world. A very few Avalonians could accomplish this task, but no one he had ever encountered possessed enough quantity to turn into a sword.
Meteora presented it to him in a special ceremony on the day he agreed to become an agent for the Light. Kolin never asked Met where he got the metal. The godling could be mysterious in many ways, and Kolin did not look a gift horse in the mouth.
"I had your armor steam cleaned during your recuperation," Wraith said. "I thought you would appreciate that."
"Thank you," he said, sheathing the sword once more.
Kolin shucked off his clothes and donned the black and purple body armor, one piece at a time. It required a perfect seal against his naked skin to function. So perfect, in fact, that he oftentimes needed to shave body hair to get it to seal properly. Because of this, Kolin kept his pubes neatly trimmed or altogether missing in order to accommodate the seal. Otherwise, the complex electronics that powered the suit would not work.
As he donned the pieces, he talked with Wraith about his plan.
"I've looked through this processing plant. There are two huge, empty vats separated by a small electronically controlled flue at the end of the eastern corridor."
Wraith nodded. "They are used to flush water from the tanks that store the gestating humans we develop from D.N.A. samples--the same that I think might have produced you. That's part of the problem in recreating you. The original scientist that made you destroyed his notes and killed himself. We don't know exactly what he used to make you and have been trying ever since to do it again but without success."
"But they're empty now, right?"
"Yes."
Kolin clenched his jaw and his eyes narrowed. "Good. I'm going to use the tanks to split these monsters into two groups. Lure them into the main vat. I'm going to bait one away from the others into the second tank. Once he's inside, I need you to shut the flue door until I've time to kill him. Then open it again and allow one more to come through. How many do we expect?"
"There are four of them, but one is a pet--a thing that used to be a human boy. But he lacks genitalia to even classify him as this anymore."
Kolin frowned. "How could they do that to someone?"
"Their cruelty is what makes them monsters to begin with," Wraith said. "How do I lure them, exactly? Do you have bait for me as well?"
"I'm going to place Jordan's smelly clothes in one...his shoes should suffice. I'll also leave a trail by wiping his socks on the floor. If these 'men' are as randy as you say, then they'll get a whiff of his scent and follow their nose in there, looking to bloody the arse of an innocent boy. There'll be blood all right," Kolin smirked. "But it'll be their blood...not Jordy's."
"I hope you are correct. I fear you underestimate the Butcher, which could be to your doom."
Kolin snapped a buckle into place on his boots. "I think you underestimate me."
"Perhaps. So...what is the rest of your plan?"
"When the monsters find his clothes and get distracted, I want you to open the flue and project an image of Jordan standing naked in the other tank." Kolin hopped to his feet and strapped his sword across his back. "He has to look innocent and like he doesn't know he's being watched. He should be gleaming with sweat, have a stiffy as long as my forearm, and wanking at himself with a goofy look on his face. When some of them take the bait and go after him, that's when I'll strike. With my suit on, I can hold myself on the wall of the tank like a spider."
"That's an excellent plan." Wraith paused. "Can I take his shorts? It may help with my ruse when I speak with them," Wraith said.
Kolin finished with the last buckle. He reached into the bag, quickly found Jordan's "pants" and tossed them to Wraith who gingerly held them between metallic fingers. They had the designer name "Bonds" on them. Kolin wondered if that was good or not.
The Avalonian Brit donned his helmet. His killsuit flared to life. Inside, Kolin saw a heads up display that gave him vision in all light spectrums. He also had a tongue pad that he could use to control different parts of the suit. He pressed a button directly in front of his mouth and it released two cibrian blades from a sheath on his left arm.
"I'm ready," Kolin said. His voice sounded synthesized from inside the black helmet. "Send a sentry to answer the door. And don't forget to project Jordan's image into the second water tank."
Wraith held up a hand and a small glass sphere appeared in it. Wraith touched it to Kolin's shoulder, and it adhered to the metal.
"That sphere on your shoulder will be the source of the projection. I shall make it as lifelike as possible. Can you hear radio frequencies with that helmet?" Wraith asked.
"Yes."
"Good. Tune into 401 megahertz. I'll broadcast our conversation for you to monitor. That way you know what's coming."
Kolin made the adjustment in his helmet.
Then Wraith went to let the monsters into the complex.
Kolin ran down the corridor, stopping every twelve feet to wipe Jordan's filthy socks on the floor. When he ran, his metallic fleet clicked against the steel. Above him, the fluorescent lights flickered on and off.
He entered the first silo and Wraith opened the flue for him. The door let out an audible hiss as it slid to one side. The smooth container walls had a few seams and hundreds of rivets. Remarkably, Kolin's armor did not reflect from the metal at all.
Kolin peered into the pipe connecting the tanks and measured it with a gauge on the inside of his helmet. No more than 50 inches wide and maybe six feet long, he thought to himself, checking the green laser readouts.
Satisfied with his plan, he stopped in the middle of the first silo and emptied the black plastic bag. He dropped off Jordan's smelly sneakers. He tossed Jordan's shirt and grimy jeans near the back of the silo. Then he slipped through the flue into the other tank, scrambled up the wall using cibrian cleats on the soles of his boots, and turned around. His cleats made small divots in the steel wall. He withdrew his sword and waited.
A moment later, Wraith started the projection.
It looked so much like Jordan, Kolin worried it might be real.
Not fifteen feet from him, the moving image of his friend stood in the nude. Every muscle on his back lit up in a play of shadows. The six-foot teenage boy had an athletic body indescribable with mere words. Fresh sweat shone from creamy white skin, and the tank filled with a panting noise as the illusion stroked a nine-inch, veiny hard on with his right hand. Wraith had recreated Jordan so faithfully, Kolin even spotted a tiny mole that he had seen once near Jordan's belly button.
Kolin admired the fine definition of Jordan's ribs, the flatness of his belly, and the high arches on his nimble feet. This incredible hologram steadied itself with its other hand as if it really had to lean against the wall. This doppelganger had so little fat that when it turned, the cheeks of a muscular bubble butt did not even touch. It afforded a glimpse to the boy's virgin hole, a barely pink spot surrounded by lily white flesh.
Drops of sweat fell from a pair of low hanging balls draped in blond hair--some of the only stuff on Jordan's entire body. This precious fur sprouted from white blond patches in his pits and around the base of his swollen, uncut dick. Naturally trim, the play of light made the sweat droplets in those teenage pubes glow like morning dew on blades of straw.
Wraith awaited Doctor Pestilence in a dome-shaped chamber surrounded by the glass vats that held his gestating creations. He coiled his tale behind a metal table. The only light emanated from behind the glass containers--a kind of greenish glow that cast the room in a sickly hue.
The doctor appeared first at the top of the stairs.
He stood almost seven feet tall and as thin as a skeleton.
He possessed a waist that reminded Wraith of a wasp. It could be no more than 24 inches in diameter. In this room, the doctor's bald head possessed a jaundiced pallor that seemed altogether too natural on him; he wore black goggles over his eyes. These round things sunk into the flesh and made the doctor's pupils impossible to see.
In more natural light, Doctor Pestilence had albino white skin. Incredibly emaciated, Wraith could make out the formation of the doctor's sharpened teeth through the skin around his lips. He had a large, narrow nose that sniffed the air cautiously as he descended into the room. When Dr. Pestilence grinned, the smile threatened to split his head in half like some evil marionette.
The doctor wore a white lab coat grubby with old blood. From underneath it, legs so skinny that they looked little more than a collection of bones, ended in a pair of polished black, knee-high boots. He had on skin-tight black leather pants. The doctor's flesh had grotesque afflictions crawling with maggots. An expert in body modification, the doctor fed them with his own flesh that he damaged on purpose with a shiny scalpel.
He gave the air a strong sniff. "I sssmell him, Tickler. Our t-toilet is near." The voice of the doctor was incredibly low, and he hissed as he pronounced the words.
The pet name by which he called his scalpel, the doctor carried "Tickler" in his left hand. "Sssoon, it will be time for usss to relieve our bowels within the prettiest of mouthsss. And then, perhaps a vivisection while he eatsss..." he hissed.
Dr. Pestilence walked up to the table at which Wraith awaited, stood at attention for a brief moment, and bowed. "Lord Wraith, I am honored to once again be invited to your home."
Behind Doctor Pestilence strode a gargantuan man with shoulders six feet wide.
The Butcher's footfalls clanked against the steel floor for he wore enormous bronze boots that he never removed even though the skin underneath had probably long ago succumbed to gangrene. Somehow, through a fusion of mechanical limbs and meat, the Butcher managed to live through all the diseases that Dr. Pestilence cultured on his vast body. And by the patches of rotting sloughing skin, the open sores, the hemorrhaging boils, and the angry rashes, it looked like the skin diseases were many. As Wraith recalled, the Butcher's mouth had almost rotted away, teeth clinging to red gums and halitosis ushering from between the Butcher's lips with every breath.
This was unfortunate, because the Butcher loved to French kiss his victims.
Wraith took a measurement of the odors in the room and discovered they had reached toxic levels. The monsters never bathed. They enjoyed the smell of their own putrescence. Yet oddly (and Wraith could never figure out why) they also seemed drawn to beauty like a moth to a flame. But they never preserved it when they found it. The monsters always destroyed beauty to replace it with an image that reflected the entirety of their ugliness.
The Butcher wore a black fez on his head.
He had a pair of eyes so deep they looked like drains covered in rust. One eye stared lazily to one side. The other regarded Wraith with curiosity.
In one huge fist, the Butcher carried a cleaver made of steel that weighed in the neighborhood of 100-pounds. Its edge looked pitted from constant hacking, and the metal had long ago stained black with human blood.
But what hung between the Butcher's legs drew Wraith's studious eye. The Butcher's enormous phallus lay sheathed in a device of clear plastic and sharpened knives.
Behind the Butcher walked the pet.
Once a boy, this thing no longer resembled anything human. He barely stood six-feet tall. The pet wore a leather corset fastened with needles and pins. They had drawn the corset so tight that the waist it formed could barely accommodate the thing's spinal column. It walked with difficulty, dropping a trail of smelly feces from an anus that no longer possessed a functioning sphincter muscle.
The body "modifications" did not stop there.
The pet's lower jaw had been removed. In its place hung a glass cup that held the tongue of the pet so that it didn't flop down. Currently, it was half filled with drool. One arm had been gnawed off and tourniquetted. The stub had become black and rotted. The other arm held a hand with only three fingers.
Flies buzzed everywhere.
The spindly pet stumbled. Wraith saw it missed several toes on its feet that at one time, might have been beautiful. When he turned around, Wraith saw that the pet's back had been flayed, the skin pulled to one side and exposing a bloody spine. The eyes of the pet begged for release. They were the only thing left that remained human. Even this boy's ears had been chewed off.
Nothing remained between the pet's legs but a bloody ruin, a meal for something that had eaten and left only a hole from which to urinate. It is always first to go.
Then came the women.
Shackled and chained and surprisingly healthy, a female guard in black leather body armor and wearing an eye patch, herded them to one side. In her arms, she carried a machine gun.
"My wightsss are unloading the semi in your garage," Dr. Pestilence said, steepling his fingers. They had long, blackened nails on the tips. "I think we have businesss to discussss," the doctor said, in a gleeful whisper. "May I sssee the toilet?"
"Do you need to use the bathroom?" Wraith asked.
"Awh no," Dr. Pestilence grinned and laughed. "It isss what we call the pretty blond boy we are buying from you. He isss 'Our toilet.'" Behind him, the Butcher giggled. "We plan on...how shall we say this...defecating in his mouth once his teeth are gone. I think he will learn to enjoy the taste of our shit. It will be the most pleasant part of his day."
"I am getting him prepared for you. I moved him to a metal tank in case you wanted to enjoy him right away," Wraith said.
Dr. Pestilence's eyebrows raised. "A s-silo. How resourceful? Good. It will be easier for you to clean any messs we s-sometimes make when we first inssspect the slave," he hissed. "B-but you are getting a lot from thisss deal, Wraith. I w-want to make s-sure we did NOT overpay." The doctor flashed Wraith a mouth full of teeth. "I w-want to make s-sure, he isss everything WE imagine." Then he cackled.
Wraith slid Jordan's dirty jockeys across the table with a metallic hand.
Dr. Pestilence, trembling, reached down and picked it up. He sniffed at it, and then pressed it to his face. "I-it s-smellsss wonderful. I've never s-smelt such...aroma."
He handed it backward to the Butcher, who took it and pressed it to his broad flat nose. Wraith watched him lick the fabric and wipe his face with it.
"M-my friend agreessss," Doctor Pestilence said.
Wraith noticed the Butcher's cock swelling to almost double its already gargantuan size.
"I think everything is accounted for. Follow me to the silo," Wraith said. But the doctor and the Butcher pushed past him. The woman carrying the rifle took up the rear, cautioning the nine female slaves they had brought with them, to wait for their return.
"We can follow the scent," Dr. Pestilence said. "You've done us a great courtesy, Wraith. No doubt, you remember that I like the boysss unbathed. This one has a strong, masculine musk. I cannot wait to lick its feet and taste its testicles. Young and raw...it'sss s-so good."
"I am a professional," Wraith said.
The monsters inhaled, eyes rolling in pleasure, and Wraith followed them, saying nothing. They paused briefly in the main central chamber equipped with the supercomputer and stared at the metal doors. They sniffed the air and recoiled from the strong odor of ammonia. The Butcher found the trail left by Kolin first and the doctor followed behind him. They took the corridor that led to the silos.
Up ahead, the door to the tanks lay ajar.
Moaning and panting emanated from within.
Excitedly, the doctor pushed ahead into the dark, gripping his scalpel so tight that it made knuckles flare. The soldier woman entered last. Wraith shut the door and locked it. He knew the Butcher could break it down, so he tried to put them at ease.
"Let me know when you are done, and I shall come and unlock the portal. I wouldn't want the boy to escape."
And with that, Wraith waited for the sound of killing to begin.
Chapter Twenty soon.