The Apostates (26 page)

The hooded figure in front of him was jet black, with piercing, fiery eyes and trails of smoke emanating from a jagged-tooth mouth. Its voice was sadistic and guttural. The snapping jaw clicked its teeth.

“Zhukov! Zhukov! We know you work with the
Apostates! What is contained within the encrypted partition in your neural
implant!” The creature snapped and threatened.

“N-n-no! Please! It’s a mistake!” Zhukov
tried to shirk away; tried to shield himself, but he was totally restrained.

“Zzzzzhukov. You dirty, old man, you.
Haven’t you had your share of young flesh in your day? What do you think those
poor souls were experiencing when you pushed their faces into your sheets?” the
black creature hissed.

“No more..No..please...” Zhukov could
barely speak, paralyzed with fear.

“How about we share their experience with you? A little demonstration?” The cone-shaped head of the creature screeched and spit.

“N-n-no.” Zhukov tried to protest.

“Then, tell us—tell us what we want to
know. Give us access,” the voice hissed through crooked, sharp teeth.

“But, I can’t! I don’t know where it came
from—Please!” Zhukov protested.

“So, sad. I guess we must proceed. You force us!” the crooked-toothed beast moved around to the back of Zhukov, who was strapped into the steel rig that suspended him. The tearing of garments could be heard as the ashen, tar colored beast assumed a position of dominance over the restrained victim. Zhukov‘s eyes drew wide as the horror of being violated was imposed upon his body. The ghastly demon cackled with delight, as it had its way with the former Cardinal. Zhukov shrieked in pain and terror and grimaced. He could not fathom how long his torment had lasted, a couple hours or a couple seconds? Zhukov opened his eyes. The creature was gone, and the Inquisitor stood in front of Zhukov, staring intently.

“Zhukov, hey, Zhukov? Do you have
something you want to tell me?” Inquisitor Rodrigo asked coyly. He had his
black hood off and was just inches away from Zhukov’s face.

“I-I-It must be the Arch-Deacon von
Manstein! He must be behind it—he’s the mole. He’s trying to deflect
attention! Please believe me!” Zhukov was telling the truth, but it didn’t seem
to matter what he said. His mind was in a state of chaos and he could not
determine if the previous events had actually occurred.

“Poor Zhukov. You haven’t really picked up
on how this works. You give me access to the encrypted partition, and give
names of collaborators. Then this all ends,” Inquisitor Rodrigo stated.

“I can’t tell you anything! I know
nothing, please!” Zhukov could barely speak.

“That’s not how our little game works.”
Inquisitor Rodrigo walked over to his case on the table, placing the black hood
back on his head. He reached into the case and pulled out another injection
applicator, then he snatched up a pair of pliers. Inquisitor Rodrigo approached
Zhukov, who began to tremble.

“N-n-n-no!” was all Zhukov could muster.
Inquisitor Rodrigo jammed the applicator into Zhukov’s arm. The drug entered
his blood stream. The world went fuzzy for Zhukov again. A bubble encased him.
The black, tar covered creature was back, snarling at Zhukov. He could only
manage a terrified, slack jaw expression, as he dreaded what would come next.

“You dirty, perverse man. Now we shall
remove your naughty bits! Make it impossible for you to violate another.” The
creature’s saliva was oozing tar, dripping from its mouth in thick strands. It
brandished the pair of pliers and clicked them threateningly, by Zhukov’s face.

“Oh god, oh god! Please, no. The mole is
von Manstein...von Manstein,” Zhukov feebly protested, to no avail.

“You disappoint, Zhukov. You are no man.
Only men deserve a full set.” The black beast knelt down and tore through
Zhukov’s undergarments leaving him ragged and exposed. Zhukov struggled and
tensed up, but could not break free. The demonic creature moved the pliers
closer to Zhukov’s fragile bits and clamped onto one side. Zhukov shrieked and
cried like an infant.

“I beg you! No!” Zhukov managed to blurt
through clenched teeth.

“I’m afraid not,” the creature growled, and with two hands and a great deal of force he violently pulled the pliers downward. The teeth of the pliers had broken the skin and pulled masses of flesh with it, spilling Zhukov’s lifeblood onto the cold, hard, concrete floor. Zhukov let out a guttural yelp, and high pitch screams, then he began to speak.

“I-I-I’m the mole, f-f-for god’s sake, I’m
the mole, please...no more—” Zhukov managed to get it out over the
impossible pain. He fought to focus his eyes, and the creature was not there,
nor was there blood or the sensation of any bit of him was missing. But, the
pain still lingered and was the most realistic thing in the room.

Inquisitor Rodrigo was standing by the
table supporting his case, putting tools away, “That wasn’t so hard, Zhukov,
now was it?” Inquisitor Rodrigo asked sadistically.

“B-B-but, ahh...” Zhukov passed out from
exhaustion and fear.

“No, no. Stay with me,” Inquisitor Rodrigo
tried to rouse him, “Shit, his brain cannot handle the dosage. We’ll have to
give him a break. Onto the next patient,” Inquisitor Rodrigo exclaimed with
some degree of pleasure. He snapped his case shut and turned out the light.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

 Graham had been successful at making a data transfer stealthily into Cardinal Zhukov’s neural implant. He had gambled that it would take L.O.V.E. at least several weeks to break the encryption on the files and by that time the Apostates would have already made their move. Graham had nothing left to lose. Rodrigo had seen to that, but he wouldn’t jeopardize the Apostate’s mission just to avoid some pain and suffering. At this point, Graham had seen the worst of it, whatever was done to his physical body would be negligible to him.

Graham had hoped that his wife and
children were in a better place, somewhere that the Church had not dreamed of.
At the very least they were resting peacefully. As he had those thoughts, he
remembered that it could have been a drug-induced hallucination, but he had no
way to prove it. Even if it wasn’t he was in a L.O.V.E. dungeon and wasn’t
likely to survive this place. It was better to let them go, dead or alive.
False hope would kill him before Rodrigo ever did.

The only thing Graham could look forward
to now was further sessions with Rodrigo and the hope—the only hope that
mattered—whether Ravine-Gulch would succeed. Ravine had been special from the
outset. He was lucky to have the right temperament for Graham’s need. If Ravine
had been a well-adjusted, self-respecting individual the plan would probably
not work. But, Ravine was a self-doubting, drug abusing, suicidal and emotional
wreck. The perfect psychological profile for the job.

All the other Apostates he had selected were certain pieces of the puzzle, each with their own special part to play; they all possessed amazing talents and detrimental flaws. Hades-Perdition was almost perfect in every way when it came to a combat setting, but he was a sexual deviant, marked by the Regime. Gale-Whirlwind was a natural leader and soldier; she had descended from war heroes, but she was also impulsive, unpredictable and she had been suicidal. Aqua-Deluge was also effective in combat situations, but she had a sexual addiction to the point where she became a prostitute, but not for the money. Blaze-Scorch was a gifted physician and surgeon, but her lust for wealth had blinded her and destroyed her career. Pale-Silence had a penchant for stealth and subterfuge but was unusually cruel and sadistic. But, Angel-Seraphim, he knew nothing about, she had been recruited by Pale-Silence without Graham’s knowledge.

The success of the Apostates was the one thing that kept him going now. Graham at least wanted to feel the elation of knowing that the populace would be out from under the iron grip of John W. Schrubb: a man who should have died over sixty years ago, and The Reverend Wilhelm: a spiritual leader who never showed his face in public and pulled the strings from the shadows. The Schrubb siblings were just President Schrubb’s impressionable progeny, and they couldn’t totally be blamed for their actions. The Church hierarchy were all cowardly: old men who largely just wanted an excessive, elderly life. The worst of them all was the Inquisitor Rodrigo: the sadistic maniac. He was the biggest threat.

Graham was giving way to a terrible depression. He had been a prisoner for at least a week. He had lost track of days and had no way to tell the time, save for the clock in his retinal H.U.D. and the background processes that the encrypted partition kept running in the event he needed to transmit final orders or delete data. He only hoped that the attention he diverted to Cardinal Zhukov kept Rodrigo occupied long enough for the Apostates to do their jobs.

Graham’s mind wandered erratically. He was searching for ways to occupy his mind and to not focus on the pain of having his limbs bound in one spot. The humiliation of being hooked up to a colostomy apparatus was almost too much bear. His mind suddenly focused on and old memory he had become aware of when he drank with the Schrubb siblings one night. Graham remembered that Kate and Keir had told him their father, long ago, had made arrangements with the Vatican. In those days before the Holy War, New Megiddo had maintained relations with the Vatican. In President Schrubb’s newly ignited religious zeal, he had started plans back then that were now culminating in the present. President Schrubb had been tipped-off that the Vatican had for time immemorial raised in secret what they claimed to be descendants of ‘divine origin’. They had no way to verify the truth, but President Schrubb had recognized the religious authority of the Papacy. The Schrubb siblings had told Graham that it was rumored that their father arranged a certain purchase. That night when Graham was finished drinking with the Schrubbs, he decided he would look into the rumor. He found that the rumor had been true and used his connections for a fateful operation.

But all of this was a long time ago, and hardly of relevance to him in his current state. Graham wondered how much time he had left before he received a return visit from Rodrigo. Graham’s mind was foggy, and he felt confused. The feeling was somehow familiar, like when he had been a ‘base’ addict in younger days. He surmised that if Rodrigo kept giving him specialized ‘base’ that it would do permanent damage to his brain. Graham would not be able to handle much more.

⍟ ⍟ ⍟

Inquisitor Rodrigo analyzed the situation.
Cardinal Zhukov did not have a high a tolerance to Rodrigo’s interrogation
strain of ‘Database’, his mind would not hold out for another dose. On the
other hand Graham Wynham had been a ‘base-head’ in his younger days. He could
theoretically handle another couple doses and still be kept sane for a trial at
the B.A.G. Rodrigo thought Graham might be harboring additional information
that could be useful to him. He also figured he’d have more time to manipulate
Graham into giving him access to the encrypted partition in his neural implant.

“Well, the matter is settled. It will be
Graham who I visit next. I have a special strain for him. Something that is
sure to cause an impact.” Even Rodrigo had realized how “mustache twirly” his
plot sounded, but the stakes were high and he needed some tangible results.

Inquisitor Rodrigo summoned his aides and fetched his black robes for another session. Rodrigo was draped in black, with the nightmarish cone-shaped hood atop his head. He carried his briefcase containing the torture instruments of his trade. They opened the creaky, metal, cell door. Graham was hanging in the position they had left him in. His head hung limp. Rodrigo dropped his chrome case on the rough-planked wooden table with a thud. The sound jarred Graham, and he had flinched. He looked up with weary, exhausted eyes.

“Inquisitor, you’re back. I take it you
aren’t here to free me, seeing as how you got the information you wanted.”
Graham had said half joking. He watched the Inquisitor move toward him.

“Mr. Wynham. You failed to give me all
that I wanted. There is still the matter of the encrypted partition. Neither
you or Zhukov will allow me access. I would hate to have to physically remove
the implants from your head, but I will if I have to,” Inquisitor Rodrigo
threatened.

“I wish I could help you. Unfortunately, I
was just a pawn of what I thought was the will of the Church, that it was why I
willingly carried the encrypted data. I would have refused had I known he was
the Apostate mole,” Wynham fabricated the whole scenario.

“That might be true, but I will crack this nut. It will be either you or Zhukov.” The Inquisitor walked over to torture case and grabbed a ‘Database’ applicator.

“I must follow this through until I get what I want. That is my purpose in life.” Inquisitor Rodrigo approached close to Graham and thrust the applicator into his shoulder. The drug drained into Graham’s bloodstream and would soon take effect.

Graham tried to prepare for the effects as best he could. He had theorized that his years of doing ‘Database’ would prepare him for whatever the Inquisitor could throw at him, but the strain of drug that the Inquisitor used was of a grade he had never experienced. It was some form of weaponized ‘Database’, and, it was very potent, indeed. Even being aware of what the drug was capable of was not enough to overcome its effects. He waited, stern-faced for the nightmare to begin, prepared for the worst. But then, nothing happened. The Inquisitor stood in front of him, silent. Graham stared at him.

“Mr. Wynham, it would save everyone quite
a bit of trouble if you would just tell us how to access the encrypted data.
Please, you must see the weight of the situation? These Apostates want to stop
the Second Coming of the Lord. Do you realize what would happen if they were
successful? Total anarchy would ensue. The faithful would have nothing to live
for. Do you really want that on your shoulders?” the Inquisitor pleaded with
Graham, almost to the point of being polite.