A for Andros: Banshee's Ballad

(This story was written as forum roleplay between me (as Charisma) and Dante (as Amber Banshee) and has now been slightly edited by me to create a whole story.

Note! The story contains explicit graphical depictions so proceed only at your own discretion.)

A for Andros: Banshee's Ballad

Kings Row, 30.5.2007

Amber Banshee was ashamed. Ashamed of not doing more for her friend who was now dead. Nightsparrow. Murdered in cold blood, her and her unborn child. This shame put her in an odd position where she felt personally responsible for the failure and the only way to get rid of that suffocating feeling was to correct the situation on her own. No team mates, no backup. The stain was on her soul and she yearned to wash it away.

For over a month now she had communicated with two people she had never met face to face. A British hero called Nightingale and a criminal calling himself Mr. Marocco. The man openly admitted to belonging to Hand of Andros while the woman claimed to hunt that group. The man also insinuated that Nightingale herself was a member, a collaborator of his. At least on paper. Amber Banshee could see how lies and half-truths twisted around her in a sickening dance but the stain commanded her onwards. She knew that neither was to be really trusted but they were the only leads she had.

When it came down to making a choice of siding with one and effectively against the other all the lesser reasons weighted nothing. The only thing she considered was the promises she was being given. Nightingale hinted that she could help finding Charisma, an accomplice to Michel Sanders who was responsible for Nightsparrow's death. A flimsy hope of gaining a further lead. In other conditions it would have been a shining boon but Mr. Marocco promised more. Both Charisma and Michel. A shot at getting back at the cold blooded murderer. Vengeance and justice. Nothing else mattered.

For reasons that he kept to himself Mr. Marocco believed that Charisma would be in a certain warehouse in Kings Row. Those reasons included an untold vendetta between them, a body double and a wish to remove a dangerous threat from the game board. Amber Banshee knew nothing of the carefully calculated moves behind the scenes. She walked into the warehouse and disposed of any opposition with practiced effectiveness and unwavering determination.

What she found was not exactly what she expected. A dead man. The body double had failed in his mission. The trap for Charisma had turned into a trap for Amber Banshee and for the next few seconds she was still terribly unaware of the matter. Instincts were screaming at her to become alert but the quest for peace of mind was dulling the signals.

The man was lying on his stomach, bloated face pressed to the floor. Rolling the man over Amber found that he held a small sphere clutched tightly in his hand. Attempting to pry it free, it began to smolder giving off a greenish coloured gas. Recalling the video where Nightsparrow had been killed by a similar gas she ran but it was too late. The trap had been sprung. The gas had already begun attacking her lungs, causing her to choke and gasp for air. The muscle cramps and spasms came soon after, bringing her to the floor. As she fumbled for the hospital teleporter, her vision began to fade and fear overcame her.

She had come here on her own, without support, without her team. And now she faced the same death as her colleague, choking, gasping for air as the nerve gas incapacitated her, the teleporter slipping from numbed fingers. She thought of her mother, still unaware of the double life her daughter Saffon led and her father, still missing after eighteen months of searching. Her last thoughts before the darkness took her was of who would find her body? And who would truly care?

As the last breath escaped her lungs, she heard the distant sound of footsteps. She was aware of a woman’s voice and the sharp [censored] of a needle into the back of her neck. The approaching death stopped, or perhaps merely paused. Air intake worked sporadically and painfully. Delirious still, her body as heavy as lead, Saffron was distantly aware of the voice asking questions. Making demands. The voice wanted to be addressed as 'mistress'.

Saffron answered through the vertigo gloom, unsure of what she was saying. Unable to fight against the delirium she conceded to the demands. What did it matter what she called the voice, really? All of it felt like being wrapped in cotton and chloroform. She spoke with a hoarse, rasping voice, tasting the sharp tang of metal until the voice had learned enough, for now.

And then the night time came again and stole her spirit away.

The coup within Hand of Andros had not gone as smoothly as hoped even with Zirgei gone. His clique was united against the new direction and those sitting on the figurative fence were too timid to commit without broader approval. What was needed was to remove a few more figure heads and all the rest would fall in place. Of this Charisma and Michel were of common opinion.

However each member had taken the hint when first Kawamura and then Zirgei met with their demise. Plain truth was that to kill someone you needed to know where they were. It was frustrating but it really boiled down to such basics. Charisma and Mr. Marocco had been hounding each other for long grueling weeks but now finally the game board changed.

Charisma was smiling. Mr. Marocco had sent a henchman of his after her, a young heroine. Through her she would finally get Mr. Marocco. Through him, all the rest that needed to be removed. The first task was to make the girl talk. Spill her inmost secrets. Only then it could be truly expected that she was speaking the truth about Mr. Marocco.

Charisma inspected the unconscious form lying on the floor. A cold, cruel smile rose onto her face. She was hoping that the girl would resist, at first. Breaking them was not satisfying if they gave in too easily.

Two forms appeared behind her. She waved her hand and pointed at the still form of Amber Banshee. "Take her to portal two and extract her to Gamma-Gamma-Five. I don't want any psychic to find her before we want her to be found."

Dimension Gamma-Gamma-Five, 2.6.2007

There was a lack of bright lights in the room, only dimmer ones cast their illumination on the furniture. It was a special room, decorated functionally for one purpose only. There were electric devices, chemicals in jars, handheld apparatus which possessed ominous aura. Needles, spikes, knifes. Things to prod and pierce with, to slice and rip.

All the items designed to inflict and prolong pain rested on tables or were stashed neatly away on shelves. The main generator was whirring at low output in a corner. A woman was resting on a bed.

She had pale skin and auburn hair. Her eyes were closed. She was wearing nothing. A hand reached towards her and slapped her cheek hard. Charisma smiled and slapped again. And again. The pale woman had already opened her eyes but Charisma kept beating her face with an open palm until the cheeks began to turn red from the impacts. The pale woman was quite unable to resist or defend herself. She was tightly restrained, arms and legs. A device embedded into her throat was hurting.

Finally Charisma wiped some sweat from her brow and ceased her assault. She was grinning. "You can talk but I wouldn't try to use your exceptional abilities." She offered no explanations. "You will tell me everything that you know of Mr. Marocco and his cohorts. This is no order, it is a statement of facts. In the end you will tell me. Just how many fingers, limbs, eyes and internal organs you have still attached is entirely up to you."

She drew a slender blade that reflected the gloomy light menacingly. "I hope this will take some time. Now, tell me about Mr. Marocco."

Saffron's head hurt. Through the haze in her mind, she was conscious of pain on her face and a throbbing in her head. It took a while for her to focus, for the woman's words to filter their way through the cotton wool that seemed to be clogging up her brain. As memory returned, she figured that she had been out for a while and in that time, she had been taken from the location in King's Row to wherever this place was. The headache and dizziness must have been a result of the emerald gas she had inhaled.

The memory of that night was a blur but the pain she had experienced from the gas was a blinding light in her mind. She tried to move and became conscious of the bindings around her limbs. Turning her head, she felt the device embedded in her throat, pressing into her vocal chords. She dreaded to think what it might do if she tried to sing.

The woman was speaking and Saffron had to concentrate to make out what she was saying through the haze. A breeze alerted her to her lack of clothing and the sight of the sharp stiletto blade that the woman held in her hand focused her mind to the here and now. She was asking about Marocco and the smile on her face made it perfectly clear that pain would follow soon after a lie. Saffron swallowed hard, painfully. Marocco had lied to her, used her as Nightingale had tried to. She owed him no allegiance and she could not believe that he would try to save her from this either. Just tell the truth and get this over with, her mind suggested, hoping to avoid the sharp cut of the woman's knife.

"He... he contacted me.", she managed, throat croaking either from the device or inhaling the gas, she could not tell. "He said... said he knew who killed Nightsparrow. Who did it... showed me her being gassed..."

Saffron coughed and gasped in pain. Let that be enough, she hoped, knowing full well that it wouldn't be.

There was a moment of stillness where only anticipation was building. The steady breathing of the captive girl. The malicious gleam on the blade. A flicker of a triumph on the face of the woman holding the blade in her hand.

The tip of the blade turned downwards and descended to touch Amber's skin under her ear. It rested there as if contemplating whether to yet cut deep or not. Then it started traveling slowly scraping the delicately pale flesh at points making small trickles of redness to appear on the surface. It came to a stop on the right side hip, resting on top of a bone just beneath the deceptively thin layer of skin.

The blade made a twisting motion, piercing its way in just by the bone. When half an inch of metal had made its way through the blade came to a rest. "You will address me as 'my mistress', or have you forgotten, wench?" It had been brought up during the talk in the warehouse. The blade turned ten degrees sending ripples of pain through Amber's foggy mind. She inhaled sharply eyes now wide open and mind reaching a new level of clarity.

"No, my mistress.", she uttered between two gasps for air. The blade withdrew leaving a throbbing reminder of levels of pain that could be inflicted on her.

"And now tell me when and how he contacted you, and what do you know of Hand of Andros. Leave out nothing or you will be kept alive for weeks to come to regret it."

Saffron gritted her teeth in pain. The knife had cut deep, down to the bone. When Saffron had been eight years old, she had fallen from a climbing frame and broken her arm. This pain was similar but worse by far. Her immediate reaction was to talk, to tell everything. Maybe then her ‘mistress’ would let her go. But there was a look of pleasure on the woman’s face that said that this would go on for as long as she found it amusing. Even then, once she had extracted every last detail from Saffron, she suspected that release to her might simply mean a swift death.

What did she know of the Hand of Andros? How much did she truly understand of it? Marocco was part of it, that was for sure, she suspected Nightingale was too. The woman stood over her could only be Charisma and she knew for sure that they would probably only stop when every one of their rivals was dead. Saffron realized with a sinking feeling that she had been played from the word go and that there was no way out.

“He emailed me three weeks ago,” she began. “Mistress.”

The sudden sight of the knife served as a reminder of how Charisma liked to be addressed. It was a silly thing to ask, a sign that she was broken. Saffron decided that it wasn’t worth fighting her on it. She would use that knife to carve pain into her body in various ways, ways that made her shudder to think of them.

“He said he knew how M…Nightsparrow died. He sent me a video of her…” Saffron choked slightly, the horrid memory of that tape coming back to her, all the more real now that she had experienced similar. “He said… he said you... you did it... mistress…”

It was a gamble, a lie. Saffron knew full well that Marocco had said differently but maybe, just maybe she could get something from this woman. It all depended on whether she could tell if she was lying.

The blade made a terribly swift motion and vanished into its sheath strapped on Charisma's left wrist, hidden from view by her long, loose sleeves. There was a hint of annoyance on her face as she stepped closer to Amber. Gone was the amusement as it made way to a pragmatic and cold woman.

"That is croc. I didn't off her, I never even wanted her dead. I still don't understand why she was of any importance alive. She was just a vicious [censored]. They're a thirteen a dozen. One day she and Zirgei's son were a part of some grand plan and the next they're the next best expendable commodity after after a pack of matches." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "Somehow it didn't feel like it was about their temporally misplaced granddaughter either." She shrugged. "If you want to point fingers it's Michel that you want. Which is too bad because I've hidden her away."

Then Charisma walked to a shelf and picked up a small jar of silvery powder. "Have you ever been poked with a red hot iron bar? Do you know the burning sensation as the pain receptors send a jolt after jolt of agony into your mind, that whole area of your body pulsating and convulsing?" When she turned around her expression was just cold. "I have the equipment but I have found this chemical to work almost as well. It strikes at your flesh in a way that makes your muscles being ripped off with a rusty hook sound like an alluring alternative. Then it reacts with the moisture, blood mostly, and generates vicious heat charring the tissue and actually creates the unmistakable aroma of burning human flesh."

She stepped closer opening the jar. The lid had an extension the size of a thumb attached to it and it was coated with the metallic dust. Charisma brought it close to the gaping wound on Amber's side. "You will now tell me everything, without fail. What you know of us, everything remarkable of your friend and Zirgei's son, your group, his group, and yourself. Just to make sure that we understand one another allow me to offer a small demonstration of what all we can do here."

Then she pressed the rod against the wound, and pushed it in.

Saffron screamed and doubled her agony. Not only was Charisma not kidding about the chemical, but the device on her neck reacted to her increased volume, punishing her further. She twisted on the counter, pulling against the restraints as she writhed in agony. The chemical seared at her wound, a burning, sickening smell filled the room as it scorched her flesh.

The spike of pain passed but the burning sensation continued, causing her to shudder and convulse as it worked its way into her skin. Tears rolled from her eyes, the powder’s vicious bite reducing her to a whimpering shell. The pain never subsided, but it slowed to a point where she could at least think clearly again. Saffron allowed herself a moment of satisfaction amidst the pain, at least Marocco had been telling the truth about Michel. Unfortunately, that was about all she understood. Even so what pleasure the confirmation brought her was gone in an instant as pain wrested control from her. She swallowed painfully.

“I don’t know anything about you.”, she started. “I just wanted to know who killed her… Marocco said we had to trap you… He told me to go to that place. There was a body, he said it was his double or something…”

Saffron winced painfully. The burning sensation continued to sear her skin. She considered mentioning Nightingale, but what good would that do? Even though Marocco had dismissed her as another rival, the sense of guilt she felt from betraying her ate away at her mind.

“I don’t know who Michel is or Zirgei or his son,” she murmured through the pain, “I…”

She paused before going on, masking her pause with a gasp of pain. Dare she mention the Militia? No, she thought. They weren’t involved.

“I met Sparrow through a friend, her husband,” she continued, “she… she was kind to me, no one else saw it… they didn’t get her. They… they went through so much, I was so happy when they were married…” Involuntary tears ran from her eyes, whether it was from remembered happiness or pain, she could not tell. “She was… she was even going to have a baby… It didn’t deserve to die… what did it do to anyone?”

Saffron stopped, allowing the emotions to come. She wanted to resist, to clam up. What did this woman want from her? When would it stop? She could feel her resolve failing, she wanted to go home.

“And I… I’m just a stupid mutant,” she whined, “I sing, that’s what I do… I sing at people and they fall over…” The pain was causing a form of delirium, she found herself almost laughing at her own words and how ridiculous they sounded. “And… and… I wanted to get the person that killed that baby… I… I wanted to sing to her too… mistress…”

She sobbed painfully from where her throat was sore. “I don’t know anything else… I just…”

Saffron stopped. She knew she was babbling. The fear of further pain made her shudder in apprehension.

The brief laughter ringing around the room was both cold and amused. "You have no idea what you have gotten involved with you stupid girl. Zirgei's son is Coile, your dead friend's husband. Zirgei himself was the de facto leader of our little club of inventors but he sadly stood in front of progress. As a group we could very possibly control the world! And yet a grand majority was content to merely make new discoveries and fiddle with pitifully minor matters." Charisma moved next to Amber and caressed her sweaty brow.

"He had to be removed and your friend's death served as a bait. Michel showed him how easily those close to him can be erased. It was needed for him to forget caution. The real bait was the mind of his beloved wife hidden inside the robot body that we had managed to locate and acquire. So, snuff goes your friend and boom goes Zirgei." She giggled with glee and grabbed Amber's front hair, twisting the locket in her hand before yanking the whole head forward. "Your futile quest for justice just happened to scratch the tip of a very precarious iceberg." She pushed the head back as if pushing a sack of potatoes aside.

"Now I have to decide what to do with you, Amber." A devious smiled crept onto her face. "Oh yes, I know quite a lot about you. Amber Banshee, member of the Militia. Friend to Coile and Keening Banshee, just to mention a few. I wonder when they will notice your absence. They might even start to look for you." She waited a moment, letting the slim sliver of a hope rise inside her captive. Was there a glimmer in the girl's pained gaze? Nevertheless the time had to crush the foolish hero yet one more time.

"They will follow will'o'wisps and false leads until the universe grows old. You are at my mercy, Amber. Mine alone. I want you now to tell me about your friends. Militia. Silent Tempest. Everything." Pacing slowly around the bed had taken Charisma to a shelf where she picked a rod about half a meter long. The other end was coated with black insulating rubber forming a handle and the other had a needle roughly the length of a forefinger. She took a hold of the handle and weighted the device thoughtfully. A flick of a switch made the rod hum and the needle to strike sparks.

"And you will tell me about your family. Every member that you consider worthwhile. Because if I find a family member of yours that you left out I will summarily kill them, just because you thought to protect them before. If you fancy taking a chance on how good I am at finding out secrets just leave a parent or a sibling out. You'll see then, soon enough." At the end of the sentence she casually placed the needle or Amber's left arm, pushed it in and turned the current on. The girl twitched. "I always find out the truth." Then she pulled the needle out.

"Your family, friends and allies. You may begin."

Saffron shuddered as the needle was removed, gasping in pain. It took her a while to realize just what Charisma had asked. This was not about her anymore or her ‘quest for justice’ as she had put it. Saffron realized how gullible she had been. She’d hoped that by going it alone and not involving anyone, she could protect them. But now, by her own hand, they were going to be dragged in kicking and screaming all for the amusement of her captor. She thought of her friends and what would happen to them if she spoke, then her mother who still had no idea about this side of her life. How her mother would have stopped her from even considering this life is she had known of it. Of how she had opted to wear a mask and change her name so as to protect her. And how all these flimsy attempts to protect the ones she loved now crumbled in the face of pain.

The anger rose in her, provoked by her hellish tormentor. She thought about the device in her neck and what it would do if she sung. It would probably kill her she suspected. But she had toppled buildings with her voice before, she could probably bring this one down too right on top of them, ending it all. It was just a question of whether the device would kill her first. Was she ready for that, she wondered, ready to kill them both?

Perhaps. But not yet. Not while there was still hope. She bit her lower lip and braced herself, raising her head to glare at Charisma.

“No,” was all she said.

Only the quiet whir of the generator disturbed the silence. Charisma stared at her prisoner with an expressionless face. Then the rage rose to the surface and the face contorted with anger and murder. The fist slammed at Amber's left cheekbone and nose with bone-shattering force and had not the head been supported by the bed the impact could have twisted the neck beyond the breaking point.

"You [censored]! You obey me, and only me! Is that clear? Is it?" As she screamed the last question the needle embedded itself into Amber's side right at a nerve junction and the current seared the tissue for several seconds. Whether or not Amber was crying from the pain made no difference. Charisma struck at her with the needle time and again, each time another spot, each spot just as precise to maximize the hurt as the one before. "You need a lesson."

The rage had suddenly vanished and was now replaced with a cold purpose. "Bring him in." A part of the wall slid up and two men dressed in dark brown tights dragged a third man into the room between them. The third man was clearly a prisoner as well. he was gagged and his legs were bound tightly with a slender but unbreakable chain. The men in brown held his arms. The captive man was whining fearfully. The mortal dread was etched on his face.

"This man refused at first to give me the information that I asked for nicely. In the end he told me everything, of course, but that does not excuse his behaviour. Or negate his punishment." As the silent wardens held the struggling man Charisma moved slowly to the shelves and picked two microwave oven sized machines. She placed them on two tables and with switches elevated them high enough for her purposes. The man was dragged to stand between the tables while Charisma turned Amber's bed for her to see clearly and without fail.

"In a minute I will leave you to contemplate your despicable attitude. When I return you will beg to tell me the answers to my questions. If you do not, I will remove your hand. You will get to choose the method, however. Allow me to demonstrate." She opened the machine on the left side of the man whose muffled screams now were in sync with the horror in his desperate gaze. Yet he was unable to resist when the two men holding him directed his left hand inside the machine. "The first option is dimensional displacement. Your hand can just be moved elsewhere."

There was a meager flash from the machine. The captive man stared at it shaking. He was allowed to pull his arm from the machine. There was no arm any more. Just as soon as the stump detached from the machine the blood started gushing out. Charisma did not seem to pay any attention to it. She could just as well have been giving a sales speech about a washing machine. "Now the other way is much more down to Earth but could suit better if you have a fear about dimensional travel." The other arm was pushed inside the other machine. There was a grinding screech and the far side of the machine spew a spray of something wet and red.

"An ordinary high speed meat grinder. Pulverizes muscles, tendons and bones." Now the man was allowed to stand on his own. His skin had turned white except where he was covered with blood. He brought the stumps left in front of him as if to make sure that this was not his worst nightmare. Then in complete silence he just fell over.

Charisma came to stand before Amber and took her jaw into her hand, almost tenderly. "Now I will go, and leave a rotating shift of guards here. You should be quite safe with them. They are totally obedient slaves that Kawamura made for me. They do nothing that I do not command them to." A smile rose to her face. "Except maybe one or two whose training was not finished when their master died. They might just pretend, having still the needs and lusts of the flesh." She rested her other hand on Amber's bare thigh. "However that is a risk that I am willing to take."

Grinning evilly she turned around without waiting to hear if Amber had anything to say. The door swung open letting her through and one guard followed after her dragging the still bleeding carcass. One guard remained. he stood motionless, just looking at his charge.

The generator whirred one last time and fell silent. The only sound in the room was the guard's heavy breathing.

Then the lights went out, leaving Amber in the dark.

Saffron lay alone in the darkness. For the first time in ages, she allowed herself to cry. From the moment she had first breathed in the noxious fumes of the gas bomb, she had faced the terrifying possibility of death. And now she was alive. At least for the moment. The brutality of her captor told her clearly that she was likely going to die in this wretched cell.

The harsh iron smell of the man’s blood assaulted her nostrils, leaving her in no uncertain terms that the same fate awaited herself. Had Charisma threatened her with any other fate, she might have held. But to lose her hands was to lose her music career. Whether Charisma knew that or not, she wasn’t sure. She knew her connections, her associations but nothing it seemed, about her private life. Why did she want to know? To hold some sort of power over her? For her own vindictive pleasure? The thought of losing her music, her passion tore at her mind as she lay in the darkness. She had to get out of here.

She tried experimenting with a few of her powers, trying to sense the natural vibration of her restraints. Finding them in the chaos of the room, she started to resonate her voice to them, hoping to disrupt their structure. She had only manage to get the first note from her mouth when the device on her neck responded, searing her with pain. Once it had subsided, she tried again, this time by altering the vibration of her body to match them. Previously she had been able to repel herself from objects by matching her rhythm to them, allowing her to jump vast distances or propel her assailants across the room. The restraints danced as she tried to push them away from herself but they were bound tightly. She was going nowhere.

In time the adrenaline of the last hour wore off, leaving her feeling exhausted and drained. There was no sign of Charisma coming back, nor any sign of light. Spent of her energy, Saffron slipped into a fitful sleep.

In pitch darkness, it is impossible to keep a reasonable track of time. So when Saffron awoke later, she had no idea of whether it had been minutes, hours or even days that had passed. Her stomach was empty and she felt parched and dehydrated. There had been no sign of the guards, despite Charisma’s terrifying warning. The room was still dark and silent, depriving her of any sense of time or space.

She began to wonder if she had been reported missing yet. If anyone at her university had noticed that she had not been to lectures in days. Whether her mother had wondered why she had not called. And most importantly, whether the Militia had noticed and even now were trying to track her. She had to hope.

In the darkness, she heard a door open. She tried to raise her head to see but the darkness remained. Feigning sleep, she lay perfectly still, Charisma’s statement about the guards echoing in her mind. There was a sense of a body close to hers, almost standing next to her. She suppressed a shudder, trying not to think about the anonymous guard standing over her naked form. So when the presence pressed closer, it was all she could do not to whimper in terror.

She could feel the guard leaning closer, his stale breath on her neck. A rough tongue licked her cheek, still bruised and swollen from where Charisma had struck her. Saffron dug her nails into her palms so as not to make a sound. Slowly, the presence withdrew, leaving her shaking with fear. When the door to the room signaled the guard’s retreat, she breathed out, sobbing with relief.

Days passed. Or at least she thought they were days. Unable to move, painful bedsores had formed on her body, making sleep almost impossible. Without food or sleep, Saffron had fallen into a delirious state, barely aware of the room around her. Flashes of consciousness came sporadically, if at all.

The intimidation game had continued unabated. Unable to tell night from day, Saffron was almost convinced that she had been abandoned in her cell to rot. The sheets to the bed had not been cleaned and no food had been provided to her. Had it not of been for the guards occasionally bringing her foul tasting water, she would have assumed herself left for dead. The water was always administered roughly and without grace. There was never enough and she was left thirsting for more.

One occasion, after administering the water bottle, one of the guards had pressed his hand into her stomach, feeling her smooth skin. She had gasped in shock, fears of unspoken horror flooding her mind. But the guard had moved on, leaving her to her own internal nightmare.

She was almost ready to say anything, to tell her accursed tormentor every detail of her life to be free. Almost. Her hatred of Charisma, the thought of her family being threatened by such a vile woman held her tongue. But even the fiercest fires eventually consume themselves. Deep in her heart, Saffron had begun to despair. The Hand of Andros had hidden people away before, including Sparrow. And no matter how hard they searched, she could not believe that the Militia would find her. Not before Charisma had broken her fragile form.

Alone in the dark, another day passed by.

Sleep, when it came, was fitful and tormented. The hungering pains of her stomach, the stinging of the sores and the throbbing ache of her broken rib and nose shattered her rest. She could not tell any more if she was awake or asleep, whether the dark phantoms that passed in the blackness were real or a figment of her imagination. The ever present terror of the guards’s sexual appetites clung to her psyche at every moment.

Although the pain in her body was constant, there were moments when she seemed to lose all sensation as if she was slipping away. It was during one of these times that the visitor came.

Saffron became aware of the presence by her side shortly after being watered, the visits by the guards the only way she could keep any sense of time in this place. She immediately froze, fearful that after what seemed like an interminably long time, one of them would finally follow through on Charisma’s threat. But unlike the fearsome shadows of the guards, this body’s presence did not fill her with fear. It stood by her bedside, slowly brushing Saffron’s matted hair away from her face. It put her in mind of something her mother used to do when she was sick as a child, the touch kind and caring. Saffron tried to speak, to tell whatever it was that she was done, she would do whatever was asked of her, that she could not endure any more. But her mouth was dry and her voice caught in her throat. The figure leaned forward and pressed a delicate finger to her cracked lips. Saffron then knew who stood by her. She could not see, but somehow she recognized the presence of her great grandmother, Shadowsong, the Fey who had left her clan and entered the world to marry a human. She felt kindness and pity from her. But Shadowsong had died many years ago and the vision faded as swiftly as it had come.

Not awake, not asleep, Saffron lay in agony on the bed, sobbing gently to the darkness.

Nothing existed any more. There was no room, no light. The guards, the water, the hellish nightmare that was Charisma. None of it mattered any more. Because none of it existed.

Saffron was no longer sure if even she existed. She was just a dream, a figment of the imagination. A wavering image floating above the abyss, ready to drop into nothingness. Whatever life she had had did not matter to her as it had never existed. She knew this for certain. Occasionally she could be heard to laugh, a hollow, meaningless laugh through sore throat and cracked lips. A laugh of one who stands on the very precipice of the void. No-one was coming to save her, because there was nothing left to save. Nothing but a bag of skin and bone, strung together with pain.

The pain was the only constant. A searing spike of agonizing sensations chaining her to existence. It was so constant now that it no longer even mattered. Random voices danced in her head, either tormenting or teasing her. She stared, wide eyed and pain stricken at the ceiling, unable to pierce the all-consuming darkness, all the while wanting nothing more than to be consumed. So when a sensation began in her foot, it took several seconds to realize that there was someone in the room with her. And that that someone was currently sucking on her toe.

For a few seconds, she actually enjoyed it, the pleasurable sensation a break from the relentless pain. But as the fog cleared from her brain, it was replaced with stark terror, the horrible reality of her helplessness snapping her brain back into reality. She wanted to fight back, to escape but the restraints held her fast and she had not the strength to struggle. She lay there, hoping and praying to whatever benevolent gods that might have been listening that she be spared the creeping terror that tormented her mind.

When the sucking stopped and the sound of booted footsteps left the room, Saffron breathed out hard, relief embracing her. But she still lay in the darkness for hours afterwards, waiting for the entity’s return, fear now her constant companion.

13.6.2007

Only a third of the lights came on and even them were not on their full luminescence. The door opened softly and Charisma walked in flanked by three guards. There was an urgency in her stride and she stopped only right by the bed. She put her hand on Amber's forehead.

"Quickly. Get this girl water with nutrients. Her stomach couldn't handle food. Wash her. And take those damn restraints off already! Move! She's half dead!"

The guards sprung to action. One was rolling an extra bed. Amber's shackles were opened with haste and the delirious girl was rolled around so that she could be cleaned from sweat, [censored] and excrement. Antiseptic paddings were put on her open wound and something was injected into a vein in her right arm.

Charisma came to the other bed when Amber was resting on it and put on a blanket over her. Then she leaned closer and set a cup on Amber's lips. The bed changed form and the headrest pushed Amber into a half-sitting position. The previously blatantly cruel woman was now pale and shaking, so much that she threatened to spill the cup in her hand as she put it on Amber's lips. "Drink. This and the stimulants should make you feel even a little better. I'm so, so sorry about this all. She left now and isn't observing us right now."

With a fearful look in her eyes she looked around before leaning closer and whispering into Amber's ear. "Michel. She is a monster! A monster! She killed your friend just to teach Zirgei a lesson. She tried to brainwash Coile. She made me do these terrible things to you. Forgive me! Please." She wiped her wet eyes. "She rules by fear. I have to play along or she kills me, and my family." She kept a dramatic pause. "My mother."

Then she turned Amber's face towards her and looked gently into her eyes. "I want to help you. I can't release you, but I can protect those dear to you. Tell me who you are and where your family is. I can hide them, but I must do it now. If I don't Michel is going to get them and they will end up dead." She leaned even closer. "And help me find Zirgei's allies. Only together with them I can stop Michel. I need them all. Tell me how I can contact them, find them. Help me stop the monster that is Michel Sanders before even more people die." Again she held a pause. "People like your teammates. Michel will soon kill a few of them just to teach a lesson. Remember Nightsparrow. Help me. Tell me everything."

The sudden movement came as a shock to Saffron. The light, the people, it was almost too much for her. She could feel the drugs working their way through her system, reviving her tired and beaten body. She almost wanted to resist, to collapse and go back to sleep, maybe forever. The fog in her brain was lifting, stimulated by the shot. It took an age for her to make sense of what was going on. Her body protested at being moved into an upright position but the relief as the restraints were removed from her was palpable. She raised a limp hand to her face, touching the swollen cheekbone. The pain from movement was agony but it was an agony she relished, being able to move once more. She was about to touch the collar that remained around her neck when she realized that Charisma was talking to her.

Saffron ignored the pain and tried to concentrate. Her head was clearing but not fast enough for her liking. Charisma was emotional, apologizing as if her life depended on it, demanding that she be told about Saffron’s friends and family. Saffron’s head lolled to one side as she tried to stay conscious. It was almost too much to take in.

“I...”, she began then swallowed hard. She had not spoken for a week and her throat was sore from the device implanted in it. “You… you said that before…” she managed. “You were… you were going to take my hands…”

Saffron raised her hands in front of her face, almost mimicking the poor man she had witnessed losing his. Clarity started to return as she turned to face Charisma.

“I can’t… I won’t,” she said, “I… If they’re in danger… I’ll stop her. Take this thing off, tell me where she is… I won’t… I wont let her hurt them. I'll... I'll escape or something... I can't stay here..."

The cup of water rested on Charisma's right hand ready to administer small doses into Amber's mouth. Tenderly she wrapped her free fingers around the closest of the shaking hands. "If it was up to me I wouldn't. But she would. Michel would. She would tear you apart." Her voice was awash with foul fear.

"She lied to me. She told me that the rest of Hand of Andros was going to release a virus that would target metahumans and kill them. Too late I realized that she was the insane one. She put Kawamura's watchdogs to guard me. These men are the only loyal ones I have. Michel's hounds number at least fifteen. We cannot escape. If we tried we would both be killed." She drew a deep breath.

"Besides you are in no condition to walk, much less fight. It would take a week for you to mend enough to carry out a fight, at least without Sparks Blackbeard's healing machines. Do you know Blackbeard? Has he been in contact with you? How about Magnus Strong? Nightingale? Shaana Niebelung? I need to know who I can trust. Tell me."

Charisma closed her eyes briefly. "Michel is going to abduct, torture and interrogate someone in your team. She will find out who you are, and then she will get to your family. And she will kill them. And she will kill that member of your team. Why? For no reason other than that she can. She killed Nightsparrow. You must tell me who your family and friends are so that I can mobilize my agents outside to protect them. Otherwise there will be your family blood spilled, and it will be on your hands."

Gently but decisively she shook Amber by the shoulders. "Let me help to help you. We can win this together but I need you to confide in me."

Saffron sat staring at Charisma, not sure what to do. She had drawn her legs up and had wrapped her arms around them in an attempt at comfort. The thought of any of her team suffering what she had horrified her, even more so the thought of her family. But this woman had tortured her, brutally and without mercy. She searched Charisma’s eyes, trying to work out whether she could trust her. She couldn’t believe it, not after her week of hell.

“You must think I’m really stupid,” she said finally. “You asked me the same question last week but then you tried to get it out of me with torture instead.”

She glanced briefly at the two machines sat nearby, still spattered with the dried blood of their last victim. She felt herself welling up at the thought but swallowed it back down.

“How can I trust you?” she asked. “These are my family, my friends. And you expect me to trust you with them?” She shook her head, her dirty red hair shaking. “I need the truth. I need proof, not more threats, from you or her!”

Her attempts to keep her emotions in had failed. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. “I don’t know many of those people,” she continued. “You can have the ones I spoke to, they brought me here. You can all just turn on each other and kill yourselves for all I care! All you people do is lie and deceive, you’re welcome to each other.”

She gritted her teeth, her anger shining through her exhaustion. “But you don’t get my family. Not until I know you’re not lying to me.”

A sad nod accompanied Charisma's words. "I understand. Let me introduce you to the Hand of Andros. Something that has never been done to any outsider. Ever." Then she took a portable screen from her hip pouch and folded it out like a newspaper. It was smooth with no wrinkles at all.

On it several heads appeared. Starting from upper left corner Charisma pointed at each member in turn.

"This is, was, Zirgei Kraft. He was our founder with specialized robotics as his specialty. His dream was to rebuild his wife as a robot indistinguishable from a living being. His children were Andre and Andrea although you know them better as Coile and Coila. Andrea is dead now, since almost a year. I know that Hand of Andros had some plan for Coile and the woman he was with but I do not know what. First it concerned Sword of Truth, then Nightsparrow. Later it also involved their timetravelling granddaughter Angelique. As a new member they refused to let me in on their more secret plans.

This is Hans Stockmann, specializing in computers. One of the people who has been around from the start. His rival by profession was Kawamura." She tapped an oriental face. "Kawamura was also a master of human will and breaking it. He is now dead after falling captive of the Silent Tempest. Medical reports say that he died from natural causes. I believe that there is more to his death.

This is Magnus Strong, cybernetics. You've seen his work. Both of Zirgei's children wore eyeplates made by him to harness their powers. He is not as kind as he appears to be.

This is just one avatar of a person that goes by the name of Voice of Ontario. He, or she, was in league with Michel at first but when the heat went up he left her. I believe that the only reason that he could do so was that simply none of us has a clue who he is or where he is. He never uses the same avatar twice. It never became clear to me what he is good at.

This Delhian is Ken Sawaputra. He speaks only rarely but when he does everyone listens, including Michel. He is an independent one. I heard he works on nano technology but I never came across any of his creations, nor tales about them.

Nightingale employs various robotic helpers in her work. She has a nominal license of a hero but if you observed her conduct you'd find it hard to believe that it has not been revoked. She can be sweet if she has a reason to, or a right [censored] if things do not go her way.

Linnea Starr works with mobile plants research. It never came up but I believe her to have some highly illegal mutated Devouring Earth cultures that she manipulates.

Chiang Norrero here knows all that there is to know about the brain as far as current day medical advancements are concerned. Or so he makes it sound. He's no amateur, that's for sure.

This woman, and I claim it's a woman despite the teen face, is Shaana Niebelung. Once again someone I know too little about but from a few sentences about her I think she may be working on processes that decrease aging, or maybe even reverses it to a point. For one I once heard that she's been around from almost the beginning and I know that Hand of Andros dates two decades back.

These are Jill and Jack. Their expertise is exploitation of scavenged Rikti technology. If they are siblings, twins, lovers or what I don't know, but they are weird.

This boyscout is Sparks Blackbeard, maybe the least dangerous of the lot. He is an expert with technology that aims to heal the human body.

The man with the fez is Mr. Marocco. He replaced Steel Guard as powersuit expert after poor Thomas shot himself.

And saving the best for last, Michel Sanders. She knows more about alternative power sources than is healthy for the world seeing how mad she is. She works for Miasma-Explora, a company that vehemently keeps a clean facade but by what I know rivals Crey Industries in dirty projects. An ideal petri dish for a plague like Michel."

Charisma held the screen still so that Amber could look at the faces. "Who do you know about? Who all have been talking to you? What can you tell me about them? If you have any means of contacting them you must tell me. Otherwise Michel goes on and on reaping havoc among the innocents." She gave the frail girl a stern look. "I hope this is proof enough. Even the kindest ones of these people would not like me sharing this information with you, and a few would outright kill me."

Amber nodded in response, trying to memorize as much as she could.

“Him and her.”, said Amber pointing at Mr Marocco and Nightingale. “They both contacted me, told me they knew who killed Nightsparrow. She got all aggressive with me when I started asking questions, he told me that I was being used. I wasn’t expecting him to do the same. He sent me the video of her being killed. Like a fool I trusted him.”

Amber’s voice trailed off a little, feeling sorry for herself. She looked back at Charisma.

“So where does this leave us?” she continued. “If you can’t let me go, can’t I at least send a message? Or do we just get to be all nice to each other until the boss gets back? And then on with the torture once she sets her foot in the door? I’m sorry but I’m not about to roll over and play after what you’ve done to me.”

"Mr. Marocco was always a weasel. I have no idea why Sawaputra recommended him into the group in the first place. He lacks a strong will and that is why Michel used him to get to your friends. As for Nightingale I always got the impression that she was a thug who had just gotten the license. She has tens of robotic helpers and no doubt saw you as one as well."

The three guards were cleaning away the almost two weeks old blood on the floor. Charisma gave them a dark look. "We're stuck here. The portal room is guarded heavily and outside there's a hostile environment. Hostile means lethal."

"I am not going to ask you to trust me, not after what happened, but your family is in danger. Michel will send someone to your group. Telling them that you are in trouble, that your family is in danger. Asking who you are. Do you really think that out of five not one would cough up your name? All it takes is one to talk and your parents, siblings, whoever you have, die. Just because she can do it."

Saffron bowed her head in despair. How could she trust what she was saying? She had taken a secret identity to shield her family and now she was being asked to lay it down to protect them. Never had she felt so conflicted. She looked up at Charisma and scowled.

“Then you need to send a message to the Militia now,” she stated, “send it to Crimson Archer, or Mer’de or Dante Carver, any of them will do. They know who my family are.” She grasped a handful of her hair. “Send them a lock of hair or something, just to prove that you’re telling the truth and Michel isn’t. They’ll be able to protect my mother. She’s the only family I have left. And if they know where I am, if they know I’m alive, they will come for me. You couldn’t possibly be blamed if they broke me out of here.”

Charisma sighed deeply. "I can send a message. Maybe. I need a frequency and any possible passcodes. And luck. I will send it in a code and hope they can decipher it. I can't trust my lines to be secure. Not since Michel took over."

Suddenly an explosion shook the structure. A bewildered look overtook Charisma's features. "What?" In that instant an alarm siren wailed loudly. "We're under attack!"

The door to the room slid open and two more guards entered, wordlessly as ever. They moved fast. The one by the door lifted a nasty looking gun and methodically squeezed out three bursts. All previous three guards seemed to explode to puffs of redness as the amazingly noiseless barrages of high tech ammo ripped their torsos apart.

Calmly the white-and-wild-haired woman lifted her hand to the collar encircling the young heroine's throat and sharp fingernails rasped at two certain locations on the collar. There was a faint click and a quiet whisper. "Careful when you pull the collar off. Part of it is inside your throat still."

The other guard came closer armed with a metallic pole. The swing was terribly fast. Charisma did her best to evade but the pole caught her head from a range. She stumbled down holding a hand on her bleeding forehead. "Protocol red. Upon perilous situation prisoners are executed." She staggered to her feet blocking partially the guard with the pole from Amber's perspective. "Portal password is DC dash twelve." After gasping for breath she added, "Frequency and codes, quickly."

Both guards turned to Amber.

A year ago, Saffron would have panicked. She would have rolled into a ball or tried to run away. It’s amazing what a year of fighting for your life can do for you.

She rolled sideways, off of the bed, ducking behind it. The guards stepped forwards, their advanced weaponry primed. Saffron felt for the vibration of the bed and pushed. It shuddered across the room, slowly at first but enough to knock the guards off balance. In the precious seconds it bought her, she reached for the collar and tugged it gently. As it slid off, a long, thin needle emerged from her throat, still bloody. She gasped in pain. As the guards advanced once more, she focused her throat muscles for the first time in weeks and sung.

She had intended to knock the guards out, the usual effect that singing a note in the right harmonic would have on people. Instead, where her focussed burst of sound hit, there was an explosion of red mist as cloth, flesh and bone exploded into its component atoms, molecules repelling themselves apart.

Saffron screamed and fell back against a nearby bench. She felt weak, sickly and nauseous as the guards fell to the ground, missing their heads and most of their torsos. She shuddered in horror at the sight, turning to where Charisma had fallen.

“What have you done to me!?” she demanded.

Whether or not Amber's hugely boosted attack abilities came as a surprise to Charisma was not evident on her face. She pushed her silvery white hair away from her face smearing it with her dripping blood even more. The gush on her forehead was not necessarily deep but head wounds tended to bleed generously.

Shaking her head as if to drive away a shroud of fog she reached between her legs and pulled a small sidearm from a holster strapped to the side of her thigh. "Not my doing. Now focus. We have to shoot our way to the portal room and if we give them half a chance those braindead things will shoot through our lungs. This is no time to get squeezy."

The gun was a sleek one with lines of embedded lights indicating that it was no usual six-shooter. When Charisma touched what might have been the safety one line turned ominously red. "It's kill or be killed. I'm getting out of here. Are you with me?" She cast a fierce hunter-glance at Amber. "All the way to hell, girl. With me or not?"

Saffron was still staring at the bodies of the fallen men. They were dead. Not arrested, not unconscious. Dead. The nausea was too much and she bent over, dry retching at the thought of her actions. This isn't real she told herself, they can't be dead... I couldn't do that... the thoughts bombarded her mind. Focus, focus, she reminded herself. The first thing to do was get some clothing. A discarded, grotty lab coat, undoubtedly used during torture would do for now. She pulled it over her, wrapping the belt tightly around her waist.

"I'm coming," she said quietly. "but if you did this to me, if you turned me into a killer, I'll make you pay."

She took one last look around the room, the place where she had spent the last two weeks and turned to Charisma. She could already feel the weakness in her legs as she stood, the effort to keep upright. She ignored it.

"I'm not a killer," she stated. "And if you expect me to kill as indiscriminately as you people, you're wrong. We're getting out of here and I will do my best to contain whatever it is that's been done to me. If you want to blow the brains out of everyone in our way, that's on your conscience. Don't expect me to do the same."

"Fine." The voice was rather dry. "I'll handle the defense and you just hang back but if they massacre us because we were lacking in firepower I'll wade through the hell and come to give you a piece of my mind." Amber glared at her but she ignored it. While talking Charisma advanced to the doorway and took a very brief glimpse. The response was swift. If she had been any slower at all she would have lost the outmost flocks of hair. A bit more slower would have cost her her whole head.

Without taking another glance she just flicked the gun around the corner and squeezed the triggering mechanism. The sound resembled an angry dragonfly moving past the ear. From the corridor came a clatter and a thud. Now Charisma took another look. A guard lied in a heap missing everything from the left shoulder down. "Keep close, move fast." She left the room sliding along the wall her weapon ready to deal flesh rendering particle death. Checking once that Amber was following the deposed mistress of the place pressed on.

Amber followed at the same pace, her muscles protesting with every step. She wanted to collapse but she knew full well that she did not have that luxury. She was shaking, still disturbed by the two headless corpses that remained in the room.

One moment the corridor lights were fluorescent white. The next they gained a faint red hue. "Oh hell!" Charisma stopped, tensing visibly. "Lockdown, we have three minutes before every major system closes down. Portal and comlink." They had come to a halt in a T-junction. Directly ahead something peeked around the corner and sent a barrage of lethality their way. Charisma rammed herself against Amber sending them both crashing down the side corridor. Amber yelped in pain from the impact to her broken rib. She swore loudly and thumped the wall in pain. It hurt, but the pain at least focused her mind.

"Time to split up or we're royally screwed. I need you in on this now! Take this corridor to the first crossing and go left. At the end of that there's a red door. Portal's behind that. DC dash twelve. There's one bigass screen with holographic keyboard. Put the code in or the portal powers down." She got up to knee the other leg steadying her while she indiscriminately responded to the fire without exposing more than her hand in the process.

"You keep the portal open, I'll blast my way to com room and send out a call for help to your group. I'm not getting stranded in my own base. Once you stop the shutdown hit the lock symbol to keep the doors closed, I have the master code to open it with." Another three shots kept the guards at bay. "The frequency and passcodes girl, now. Or we're toast! And then get going already! I'm counting on you here, hero!"

“354Mhz, Seven Delta Tango Four,” replied Amber, barely able to speak. She tried to calm herself, gathering her remaining strength. This was no time for weakness.

Amber waited until Charisma began firing then moved as fast as she could up the corridor. She could hear yelling from behind her and the same whizzing sound of Charisma’s gun. She was gasping, the broken rib pressing into her lung, making it hard to breathe. Each step was agony. She stumbled several times, steadying herself against the wall. When she got to the door to the portal room, she almost despaired. There was no cover, no places to hide and the door was a sliding one.

“Please don’t let there be anyone behind it,” she muttered under her breath as she punched the ‘open’ button. As the door slid sideways, she saw into the room beyond.

When she saw the backs of the two guards bent over the portal’s control panel, time seemed to slow down. They heard the door slide open and looked over their shoulders to see who it was. Saffron stood frozen in their gaze as they raised their fearsome weapons, the same ones that had obliterated the guards in the other room. Nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide.

“Close your eyes,” she told herself, her pretty green eyes finally resting at last. She heard the distinctive hum of the two weapons fire and then there was nothing.

Silence reigned amidst the chaos. Standing with her last strength, Saffron felt a fine, warm mist upon her face. Slowly, not wanting to wake up, she opened her eyes. Peering through her mask of gore, she saw the red fog of bloody rage where before two men with strange weapons had stood before. Little remained of them. Time resumed its usual flow.

Saffron fell back against the wall, the echoes of her song reverberating around the room. The dismembered bodies of the two guards fell forwards, the majority of their torsos nothing but a red mist that settled on the terminals like a crimson blanket. On the wall were two scorch marks from where the weapons had fired wildly as she sung. She wanted to scream, wanted to cry. What had she done? Her breath came in ragged gasps as she struggled to hold onto consciousness. It was only the sound of running outside of the room that snapped her back to reality. She scrabbled for the door control, snapping the doors shut followed by the lock key to secure them.

Alone in the room, she staggered to the portal control console, leaning on it heavily. Her hands slipped in the blood covering it, the instruments hard to operate. Quivering and crying, she wiped her hands on the bloodied gown and entered the information given to her by Charisma. Stepping backwards from the console, she slipped in the mess on the floor and fell backwards into one of the nearby chairs, landing in it hard. Not wanting to move, fear and fatigue overwhelming her, she held her head in her hands, waiting for Charisma to arrive.

After an eternity, or maybe just several seconds later, the door slid open. Charisma stepped in clapping her hands slowly and loudly. Her face was clean but the hair was draped in messy locks stuck together by coagulated blood and the wound on her forehead was hidden under a patch. She was smiling approvingly. "Well done. From a girl scout to a killer in five minutes. That's how much your convictions are worth." She stopped the clapping and came to a stop in front of Amber. "That's how much hope you have."

The slender fingers lifted Amber's chin. "You know nothing useful of Hand of Andros. You were just a blunt tool to be wielded clumsily. The only role you now can serve is a bargain chip. A paycheck. Your friends will rush to do my bidding to get you back safe and sound." She grinned and grabbed Amber's throat with speed and lifted her hanging in the air with clearly metahuman strength. "Not all wishes come true."

Charisma swung around keeping a good hold on the throat and smacked Amber against the wall. "You will now go back to your little room, child. There I will redefine the meaning of pain over the coming days. You defied me!" Charisma's voice rose in anger. "No brat like you defies me without a penalty!" Her voice lowered and turned deathly cold. "I told you what would happen if you resisted me. Now there is absolutely nothing that will keep your family alive. I will find them and what will be left won't be enough to fill a matchbox."

Laughing she turned and drove Amber against the adjacent wall. "You will scream until you lose your voice and then you will just scream inside your head." One guard entered carrying the collar with a long needle, the collar that would render Amber back to a whimpering girl. Charisma turned sharply bashing her captive once more against the hard concrete wall her tight hold slipping for a second or two. "When your friends get you back you'll beg them to kill you."

Reality seemed to slip out from under Amber’s feet as she realized that she had been tricked. She didn’t bother to resist Charisma as she lifted her effortlessly and smashed her fragile frame into the wall. She felt a cracking sensation from her shoulder blade but it didn’t matter anymore, there was no point in resisting. She’d won.

And then, as the door slid open, the fear returned. She saw the collar, heard Charisma’s cruel laughter and she realized that there would be no end to this. No end until she was dead. And until that point there would be nothing but unending torture and pain, not just for her but for her friends, her family. She struggled, twisting and trying to fight back with whatever strength she had. But Charisma’s grip was like a vice around her neck, robbing her of her strength. It was like a fly trying to wrestle with an elephant.

And then as she turned to allow the guards to put the collar back on Amber’s neck, she slipped. The small movement allowed Amber to gasp a breath of air. It was all she needed.

The scream came from somewhere deep within her, a dark pit into which she had only stared once before in her lifetime. It was the wail of her ancestors, the Bean Sidhe, the woeful scream that heralded the coming of the dead. It welled up from inside of her, burning humanity as it came, leaving nothing but the vengeful spirit of the banshee. The sound obliterated anything living in the room, casting their souls to the land of the dead with its dreadful resonance.

Saffron could not see, her eyes were shut tight to withhold the horror from her mind. She felt the vibrations of the room as the noise destroyed the living, she was aware of being wet, cascaded by the foul miasma of liberated blood. And then there was nothing but the deep, silent pit of night. She fell forwards into it, the dark embrace of unconsciousness claiming its victim at last.