Chalice of the Immortals (Closed)

Chalice of the Immortals
Closed for Soulweaver and NessaCary. Please PM either of us with any comments ....



Horus .........

Unable to move, he stretched his out consciousness and gave it a shake, smiling openly to himself at their folly. His supposed peers had the temerity to judge him, Haru-Si-Ese, the great Falcon God and Son of Isis. Worms. Guilt was a mortal term and yet they had passed sentence on him as if any of his actions had actually had any meaningful effect on the great wheel of the cosmos.

The trial had been a sham. That preening fool Thoth had argued his case, he being forbidden to utter any sound lest his words settle on the great scales and subvert justice. “Justice,” he spat out the word. Isis and the once great Osiris, his once doting parents, had sat there silently fuming, not allowed to participate in either his defense, or the judgment. There was a time when Osiris would not have been so cowed. That in itself was symptomatic of all that was wrong with the great sky-house now. It was rotten. They had judged his play as ones who had never done the same things themselves. “Well,” he considered, “Maybe not the same things.” He had always taken pride in his inventiveness and sense of fun.

So here he lay, in his holding tomb of cold granite and dark magics. The faces of those who had passed judgment and watched as the great scales had tipped first to banishment, then to dissolution, etched indelibly into his memory. They had not reckoned with his cunning though for Horus had been thoughtful enough to set plans in motion, tiny seeds planted millennia ago, planted for this very treachery.

Now as the great ship resolved, high above the lush blue-green water planet, he was about to see if those seeds had germinated. If all went to plan, he would have his revenge . . .


.

Awareness gradually settled over the woman's body. The sound of the leaking faucet reverberating in her ears, the morning chill from the nearby window shifting across her cheekbones. Sadly, dream she was pulled from felt more like reality than the life she was rapidly remembering. The perpetual damp, rusty smell of her apartment, always present and potent, filled her nostrils. It was that familiar odor that pulled her completely from her reverie.
She reflected on the warm, vibrant tones of her dreamworld as her eyelids fluttered open and she forced herself out of bed. It wasn't the first time she'd had that dream. For the rest of the morning, as she bathed and prepared for the day, she reflected on that dream. Always heat. The sun beating down on an ancient city that glinted in it's light, lazy and placid along the banks of a glorious river. The heat of lust fueled by bronzed bodies, bare-chested with sheer, light clothes richly accented in golds, blues, and reds across their thighs.

Picking up her cat absently, she stroked the slim feline as she let her thoughts keep her from the gritty realities. There was an hour before she had to be at the bar and she knew she should eat but she found herself curling back up in bed, cat curled up next to her, longing to slip back into dreams.

Her world was as far from the warmth of that is possible. She worked nights but even in the day it felt as though the sun no longer dared to shine on a city that was all chrome and iron. Unable to fall back asleep she was soon forced to pull her rough, gray sweater over the bar's standard uniform of leather pants and corset, laced tight. The dark outfit contrasted starkly with her pale skin and equally pale, choppy locks. Pressing a final kiss on her pet's nose, Wren stepped out into the night and left her dream behind.

Dekard ...........

He blinked. His head hurt like fuck and he had no idea where he was. He tried to move but his whole body ached like hammered shit. He screwed his eyes up, “Think . . .” he tried to stand but his legs felt like jello. He rolled over onto his back. His hands began patting his body down, a reflex action of some kind, searching for something. His fingers brushed something cold, hard plastic. He craned his neck, a nameplate, “Dekard.” He had a name at least.

The room was dark. Above him a Plexiglas tank stood, its door swinging idly open. Green fluid still sloshed around below the door line. He was soaked, his grey jumpsuit covered in the same green fluid. Somewhere close, an alarm claxon was stridently demanding attention. As if on cue, there was a loud hum, the sound of switch gear and circuits being closed. Red light bathed the room, flickered a few times, then settled into a lurid, evil glow.

As if his own switch had been thrown, Dekard came to life, memories flooding back and punching him in the head. The Plexiglas tank was his. It was a stasis tank, his prison. “Imprisoned for popularity,” he laughed weekly and spat out some green fluid. Popularity attached to dangerous ideas, ideas of freedom from enforced genetic oppression. But something had gone wrong. This wasn’t the script for being woken up, not at all. This was an emergency dump. A rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins. He tired to rise again. Whatever was going on this was an opportunity. His practiced nose could sniff a jail break . . .


.

The bar was buzzing, human and less than human beings were packed into the small brick building in one of dingier districts of New York. She'd barely stepped behind the chrome bar top when her Ana, a lavender skinned woman with serpentine eyes, tossed her a bottle of Absinthe and nodded to a man in the corner. Catching it deftly, she wasn't without a bottle or wash rag in her hand for the rest of her eight hour shift. When she finally finished her shift, she tilted back the bottle of amber liquid still in her hand and took a healthy swig. Not for the first time, she wished it would have an effect. Maybe she would understand the appeal of the incessant elctro-beats if her head was swimming.

Moving through the crowd of gyrating bodies, all attempts to drag her into a dance were dodged. The feeling of eyes on her exposed flesh was tangible and slimy. Not bothering to meet any of those gazes, she failed to realize that not all of them were lecherous. In fact, two or three pairs of steel-gray eyes watched her with calculating precision. Three identical suits closed in behind her as she stepped out the side door of the bar and into a black bag.

Immediately and instinctively, she reached up to pull the offending fabric from her face only to have them seized and twisted behind her back. Cussing at her own ignorance and clumsiness, she kneed the nearest attacker in the groin and managed to pry loose one of her hands. Pale blue electricity shot from her hands into another one of her assailants but she knew her inattention had already lost her this round however and, still blind, she felt her hand wrenched back. The sound of aerosol gave her a two-second warning before she inhaled the narcotic.

"Damnit..." she breathed before she lost the rest of her senses.

Horus ..........

The sarcophagus lid slid smoothly open with a heavy thunk and hiss of gas. He didn’t move, preferring to lay there with his arms crossed over his chest and a barley concealed smirk upon his face. He certainly wasn’t going to make this easy on them. His senses took in the room, the soft subsonic hum of power, its austere beauty, and, it’s two other occupants.

They’d been fucking. Recently. The stink of her cunt was all over him as he floated across from her, playing their little game. She dripped his fluid. They certainly made a pair. Neither were in control or realized what they revealed. At that moment he felt a rush of power, of his superiority. Also, hope. For it meant that there might just be a chance, in a universe where infinitesimal chances made kings and destroyed star systems, a chance that his plans might work.

They tried to ignore him but his silence picked at the them, like fingers scratching at a fresh scab. Anubis began to ruffle first. He positively bristled. His hate for Horus, all the hedonism that he stood for, and for this mission was all consuming. Only his partner held him in partially check.

“Settle my pet,” she cooed, unfolding her long feline legs. Baast stood, stretching. Then she pecked the huge Jackal on his cheek and told him not to move. Gracefully she flowed across the floor and stood above Horus. He had to admit she was evocative. He wondered how she’d managed to resist his charms all this time. Thoughts of holding her down by her neck while she hissed and tried to scratch at him made Horus stir. Yes, maybe when he returned he could rectify that and make her his own kitten.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she folded her arms and was regarding his erection with disdain. “That’s exactly why you’re being ended little Horus,” she purred at him. Turning, with a flick of her tail, designed to lift and show him her wet sex, she activated a transparent panel. “You are wasting your time and . . .” she paused for effect, baring her fangs, “If you cause any problems with our perfect earth, I’ll see to it that your very memory will be wiped from the entire universe.”

A golden sand timer, glimmering and resonating a soft, almost inaudible chime appeared, floating in front of her. She touched it delicately and it began spinning hypnotically. With each glowing rotation it slowed. When it finally stopped, tiny gold flecks began to run down through the glass funnel. Horus sighed, flexing his powerful body. Yes, it appeared that his time, was indeed running out . . .



.

The chloroform or whatever it was didn’t last long. She barely blacked out before she regained consciousness. Iron bonds still held her wrists and now her feet as well. She could hear the fuzzy static of the radio that over shadowed the news, another report on the prison break. Some insurgent leader was missing and old wounds were broken open. Honestly, Wren couldn’t care less about the politics. The radio combined with the engine’s steady hum was loud enough to mask any noises she might make.

Careful not to alert whoever was driving that she’d woken, she attempted to slip her wrists form the cuffs. Her efforts were short-lived. As the vehicle came to a stop, she went limp and let herself be carried into a building. Even through the rough fabric of the hood she could see that the room she ended in was bright and stark white. Sterile, she thought to herself. Rooms like these are used for only a few things. Interrogation, but she didn’t know anything about anything. So that left experimentation. Before she could let her mind wander further she heard the door open and the clack of heels as a woman entered.

Her head snapped back as the hood was pulled back suddenly. She let it roll on her shoulders, keeping up the charade.

“Don’t bother,” a low, sensual voice said, “we’ve been watching you and I know you can hear me.” She felt a cool finger slide up her neck, the woman’s manicured nail digging into her pale flesh slightly. When there was no more neck for her to trace, the fingers gripped her chin and Wren’s chin was wrenched to meet the woman’s eyes.

With a soft sigh of defeat, Wren finally opened her eyes and met unnatural silver ones. The woman’s thin, painted mouth was a satisfied smirk as she released her grip and took a step back.

“Good girl.”

Dekard ………

Scrambling to his feet Dekard sagged against the wall. He had no real idea where he was. When he’d been tanked, he was barely conscious, as they’d transported him into his cell. Not that the fluorescent lights and corridors would have meant much anyway. One prison facility was just like the rest. He forced his legs to move, each step agony as unused motor functions protested, wanting to float back in the tank. Gravity was such a bitch.

In the corridor he took stock. He remembered where he was with a groan. “Fuckers,” he swore. For he was prisoner 0101, the first incarcerated in the latest “Escape Proof” aerial deep-sleep facility, over the New Hudson Bay. He jogged down the corridor, unused muscles straining in protest, there had to be an office, some sort of security station close.

He rounded the corner and pulled up short. Sure enough, there was a cubicle, glass enclosed windows covered with solid looking security mesh. But . . . where was everyone? The emergency lighting was still on and the sound of far off sirens still carried, echoing. The door was ajar. ‘It must be something damn serious for them to have abandoned their watch,” he mused grinning. Tough shit, what was bad for them was good for him.

He entered the room, searching. He needed a schematic, something to tell him how to get off this piece of junk. He flicked through scattered papers, data tablets and general detritus on the desk. A half drunk cup of coffee grabbed his attention. It was still warm. He tossed it down and closed his eyes in sheer pleasure. Even the fact that it was some sort of re-hydrated powdered shit didn’t matter. “Coffeeeeeee, mmmmmm.” As he was licking the last drops from the rim of the cup, his eyes caught something flashing on the wall. A friggin digital readout, a floor plan showing individual cells, rooms and corridors. And all over it, red tell-tales were popping up. “Well fuck me,” he let out a low whistle of surprise. It appeared like someone was letting the chickens out . . .

.

“You may call me A,” the woman said, crossing her arms in a stance that said she wouldn’t put up with any shit. The iron cuffs keeping Wren bound slid along the arms and legs, fusing to the metal. She refused to react to either the woman’s statement or the state of her imprisonment. The woman waited a beat and then nodded to herself.

“You’ll be wanting to know why you’re here then?”

Again, she waited for the young woman to speak. Wren’s short white hair was splayed haphazardly across her forehead, mingling with her dark lashes and obscuring her eyes. The obstinate set of her jaw was unmistakable however. A clucked her tongue, shaking her head.

“No? Well then I suppose we’ll just get started. “

Once again fingers were on her face, tilting her head various directions. The woman peered into her ears, her mouth, her nose, her eyes before bringing out the instruments. This routine continued on her palms and stomach, none of it invasive or painful yet and for the most part A kept her touches clinical. Despite the woman’s sharp angles and cursory manner, there was tenderness in her movements.

It was when A’s ear was pressed against her chest, dark hair pooling in Wren’s lap that she finally gave into curiosity.

“Why am I here?”

Horus ..........

He stood at the edge, letting the infinite possibilities, the tangles and twists of the future, coil and snake around him. His timing, as usual was impeccable. Somewhere down below, his mind picked up the seed and he saw they were in the perfect places, at just the perfect times, just as he’d predicted.

He looked over at Anubis and Baast. They were standing there copulating in a lewd display. Designed to show their total indifference towards his presence, or very existence for that matter. The big Jackal was standing behind her, her full breasts cupped in his hands, rolling her nipples between his fingers and thumbs. As he thrust, he was lifting her up in tiny jerking movements, rocking her up onto the balls of her feet, supported only on his immense cock and by his grip on her teats. Baast let her mouth open and her tongue loll to the side of her mouth, panting in a deliberate show of arousal.

Horus felt his hackles rise. He wasn’t easily provoked but this feline knew exactly how to arouse him, both his anger and desire. For a moment he wondered about that. Maybe there was more to this than met the eye. She certainly had made a point of “knowing” him. He’d watched her sideways glances at him for a long time but had never thought it was ever more the measuring appraisal of an opponent, one god to another. He tasted wheels within wheels and the grating of stone as the huge cosmic millstone turned.

Horus allowed his feathers to ruffle. It wouldn’t hurt either of them to think that he was annoyed. But he fixed his gaze only on her. Watching her eyes as she let her current bull service her. Anubis was such a fool. Horus stretched out his arms, letting the wind caress him. He turned again, gave her a conspiratorial wink, then stepped through the wall and plummeted down to his beloved earth.


.

A pulled back, revealing a smile that sparkled over-brightly. Her hair was stiff but soft, terribly similar to feathers and when she moved her head the tips of each lock brushed against Wren’s exposed stomach. Muscles there tightened, resisting the urge to sigh or giggle at the subtle needling of her captor.

“You are here,” A explained, cocking her head like a bird confronted, “because you are different.”

Returning her head to Wren’s chest, she mimicked the beat of her prisoner’s heart against her thigh. Tap tap, tap tap, tap tap.

“So regular, exactly as the human heart should beat.” She stood and leaned forward, pressing Wren’s head to her chest so she could hear the fast, erratic beating of her own heart.

“It’s not the only thing about you that is perfect. Your irises are natural, skin smooth with regular pigmentation, all your features seem to be regularly formed.”

A pursed her lips, before continuing, no longer seeming to speak to Wren.

“Your phenotype as we’ve observed thus far is entirely undiluted. You show none of signs of modification or mutation. Once we begin testing, we can confirm this and begin to discover how it is so. It’s possible that your appearance is only a fluke and physical features are entirely human only by chance but we, I, am hoping for more. You see, Wren, if your genetics are truly pure and you are as healthy as you seem then that makes you priceless.”

Dekard ………

Quickly scanning the display, Dekard reached a decision. He couldn’t make for the dock, most of the lights were going off down that end of the platform, so he assumed that’s where most of the security would be, running around trying to mop up or contain. As amusing as sticking around to see what sort of trouble a couple hundred double A class crims could cause a handful of bored, fat rent-a-cops, he had to get out while he could. Interestingly, his was the only blinking red light down this end of the prison. Time to ponder that later, he spun out of the cubical and dashed off down the corridor, moving smoother with each step towards freedom. He had a plan, a little on the desperate side, but still, he didn’t exactly expect a limo ride outta here.

Breathlessly he ran through labyrinthine corridors, half expecting to bump into someone, maybe an escapee or security, at each new corner or intersection. Not for once he was glad for at least one of his little curses, for he petty much had 100% retinal memory, and so while he didn’t recognise any of it, he knew where he was going. One corner to go, he forced himself to slow down. He was going to have to gather his reserves a bit, for the run here had been the easy part. A few deep breaths and Dekard inched forward and peered around the corner.

He froze. He wasn’t quite ready for what he saw. It was simple enough, but it spoke volumes about unseen events and debts to be paid. He was a firm believer that no one ever gave out lollies for free. Resting by the emergency lock was an inconspicuous khaki rucksack. Looking around with one of those “I’m being watched,” feelings, Dekard slowly walked the last few meters to the lock. He cautiously poked at the bag with his toe. When it didn’t explode, he picked it up to see what his secret santa had delivered him.

The prison barge was high enough for the blasting air to be cold, and even in the new body-glove jumpsuit, Dekard shivered. Or maybe it was just the height, he couldn’t be sure, he disliked both. He looked down watching as the emergency blast hatch slowly tumbled, end over end, to disappear with a splash into the dirty green water of the bay. “It had better sink fast.” He almost swore for a second as it bobbled, before sinking down out of sight. Checking the new auto pistol was secure in his belt, he said a quick prayer, then, “No time like the fucking present,” stepped off the lip and into fresh air . . .

"Tests?" Wren repeated apprehensively. Something felt ominous about the word, about the entire way that A was speaking. Her nonchalance triggered something in the restrained woman and she could feel her freedom slipping away.

Without really thinking about it, her ankles wrapped around the foot of the chair, shoulders hunching forward protectively. Her chin jutted out in defiance however. Dignity was something she'd learned to hold onto a long time ago and she'd be damned if it was going now. Something felt ominous about the word. Observing her reaction, A grinned wolfishly, tousling Wren's short hair.

"Don't worry, little bird, they won't hurt a bit."

Wren pursed her lips. Meeting the woman's unnatural eyes, she realized it wasn't actually her that frightened her, or the tests. Something just felt wrong with the entire world and it always had. She relaxed, straightened her spine and smiled.

"Of course," she said softly, still smiling.

They didn't hurt, not really. Every body fluid was tested, every orifice prodded and samples taken. A few of the tests were performed by others but the majority A went about doing herself, always needling and prodding her as she did. She refused to let the comments or caresses bother her. Dignity was something she'd managed to hold onto a long time ago and she'd be damned if it was going now.

Horus ..........

Horus howled as he plummeted, purely because he could. An insane howl of freedom, release and possibility. Friction built up and he fed fuel to it, pleased with the effect a fiery plume of death dropping to the earth like a fucking meteor, would have on any human casually glancing skywards.

He could feel his seed. One was close, soon to dashed and broken so he could remake it, changing just enough so it would be able to carry him. The other, the vessel, was also about to be broken down in her own way. De-constructed and toyed with, necessary things that would teach her things about herself that she needed to know, allow her to become receptive, for the sands of time were falling.

He could feel them watching him from above, well Baast anyway. Anubis was too busy closing in on his eruption to care. He thought it funny that even as he thrust into her, as he prepared to fill her feline womb, she was staring down at him. Yes, out of them all, only she was worthy. Only she perhaps had an inkling of the real Horus, what he was, his power, and what he was capable of. Oh the pleasures they were going to have together. He had decided Baast would be his. The vessel would be is way of returning to claim her, to break her feline spirit until she accepted her true place by his side as ruler of the gods.

The burning heat was mixing with the slight smell of singed bird, as Horus allowed his mind to forget the physical to the point of danger. “Oops,” he laughed, “got a little bit carried away there.” For a moment he pondered slowing his descent and extinguishing the flames.

“What the fuck,” he roared above the inferno, “Am I not a god?”

With that he accelerated, flames growing into a fireball of doom and a sonic boom echoing and rolling off the surrounding hills. And then Horus disappeared, plunging into the cold New Hudson Bay, in a huge cloud of vaporised steam . . .

Finally, A made to loosen the bindings holding Wren to the examination table. They hadn't been nescessary, the girl had stayed stoicly still throughout. A left her tied though, another layer of mortification as she laid stretched out and naked. Finally, after what felt like hours of testing, A threw a gauzy gown at her and undid the restraints.

"We'll have the results the day after tomorrow," she said once Wren was free and rubbing her wrists. She slipped on the gown and rubbed her wrists and ankles. The way her slim, short legs dangled from the table almost made her look like a child...almost. Full lips hinted as a pout as she nodded, unsure what she was supposed to say.

"In the meantime," A continued, "get washed up and you can stay here until the corporation decides what to do with you."

She ushered her off of the table and out the door to a tiled room and watched as Wren cleaned up. A's eyes burned into as she changed and ate her meal. Dinner was served in a cafeteria with others she assumed were a mixture of employees and other lab rats. The pressure of A's gaze was multiplied tenfold. The food was good, better than anything she'd have eaten at home. Wren didn't taste it though, her mind was filled as she assessed her options. Essentially they amounted to escape, rebellion or complianace.

Dekard ………

Dekard hit the water hard. At terminal velocity it was like slamming into concrete. Forget the movies, this hurt and was going to break things. His body-glove tightened under the impact, constricting blood flow automatically, a precaution in case something severed. Water filled his lungs and it was all he could do to force air up and out to expel it. Of course now that left his lungs bare. He would have struck manfully for the surface if his shoulder wasn’t shattered, that and a leg that hung limply, dragging him down like an anchor. He began to revise his ill-conceived and hasty plan. “Note to self, do not jump into water, from a platform hundreds of feet in the air without a either A, a parachute, or B, a real plan.”

He wasn’t a great believer in those near death stories with the accounts of people who have had their lives flash before their eyes while in the midst of some terminal moment. In fact, he kinda wished that he would survive, so that he could put the record straight. Dekard didn’t feel any all-warming light. All he felt was the cold oppressive press of water and, if truth be told, more than a little lonely.

He sank lower. His mind began to flicker, shimmering and playing tricks on him through lack of oxygen. He was determined to keep his mouth and airway shut and not to give in to the hypnotic sirens call of a liquid drowning. Maybe it was lack of oxygen, but he did find dredged memories to review and dismiss and he sank ever lower, a tiny trail of escaping bubbles his only marker.

Images of his Janey visited, of her soft and heated kisses, of her cancer wracked body on the gurney and the ordeal of continual organ replacements. She had tried to keep his growing anger in check, but eventually Eugenics had taken everything, savings, sold possessions, everything they had and yet still been unable to save her. After her death he’d started by campaigning for free choice. To allow individuals to decide whether to accept transplanted, harvested or grown organs instead of the state system, which decreed life to be paramount. Decreed and enforced with a brutal police state system, which ran through the chrome facade of Nu New York like an uncapped sewer. Then of course, he’d been recruited by the resistance, who eventually proved to be almost as bad in their own singular, destructive purpose. The bombings had been the last straw for him . . . and of course when he’d tried to leave, they’d stitched him up like old leather. His last thoughts before being iced were of his Janey, and how he’d make them all pay one day.

But of course, that plan, much like his most recent, was fading into the inky depths as he sank lower and lower and his brain began to shut off. Dekards last thought oddly enough, was of the sun. Janey had loved the sun, funny how dying in frigid water should feel so hot . . .



.

Eugenics Corporate Offices

The boardroom overlooked the entire city. At one time it had no doubt been a view to envy, though in the city's current state of decay it wasn't much. Skyscrapers of varying architecture were poised to crumble and "new" buildings were concrete boxes devoid of creativity or finesse. Perhaps the only thing of any real beauty was the golden pyramid that had appeared in the sky days before. Neither deteriorating or plain, it seemed appropriate hovering over Nu New York. They shared an aura of fading glory.

The mysterious monument had, of course, been a frequent topic of discussion in that boardroom. Eugenics fancied itself as the puppeteer of the city (and it wasn't far from the reality) and so the pyramid's presence was a constant source of discord. Stodgier pessimists insisting that the thing was unnatural, unholy and a threat to everything for which the company stood. The risk-takers saw money and power in the monolithic structure.

But today was not about the pyramid. Today was about test results. A sat perched at the end of the conference table, explaining her findings to the members of the board. Photographs, charts, and graphs flashed over the screen. Even to those who weren't medically or scientifically educated it was obvious that the woman was healthy, and even more rare, human.

The corporation had long been splicing animal and even plant DNA into the human genome, to the extent that full-blooded humans had been presumed extinct decades earlier. Unexpected side-effects were shoddily corrected with transplants and medications that normally exacerbated the problem. Man's attempt at playing God had poisoned them slowly.

A portly man halfway down the table raised a tubby hand, revealing a damp spot beneath his arm.

"Aherm."

Glancing condescendingly at the man, A nodded sharply once.

"Well...I suppose the question we've all got for you now, Miss A, is how you intend on using your discovery?"

Horus ..........

Down he plunged, wrapped in a shroud of superheated roiling steam. Eventually the water won its timeless battle with the fire and a trial of boiling gas replaced his comets tail. Something flitted across his bow, a shimmering mackerel and he snapped his beak at it, unable to suppress his inner bird. “Curses,” he spat out as it rolled and slipped away through its natural element, unaware of how close death had been. Never to be outdone, Horus lashed at it with his mind in a fit of churlish piquancy. The fish imploded in a tiny cloud of blood, oil and meat, already twirling broken to the depths. “At least some predator will get fish today.” he grinned.

Downwards he went, moving the water effortlessly from his path. The seed was below him. He reached out, assessing. His carrier was broken, nothing that couldn’t be easily repaired though. A shattered shoulder, broken rib and punctured lung, snapped femur and worse, shards of tib and fibula bones, a tangled mess of cartilage, muscle, marrow and calcium. The body bits he could massage, even replace if required. His mind though, so close to death, it was almost ready, almost receptive, ready to receive the greatest gift Horus could pass on to another being, that of himself.



Dekard ………

Somewhere a baleen sounded its eerie song. A deep, bellowing melody of intense alone. Dekard savoured it, drinking each note, his face streaming unseen tears in the frigid water, tears of infinite lost possibility. The notes caressed him, a hauntingly beautiful funeral dirge.

At least, he could die pure, unsullied with harvested abominations. The water was probably the cleanest of all unwelcome deaths he thought. As he dropped lower, the pressure began to constrict his body, the broken rib pushing ever deeper into its new fibrous home. Dekard new he was close. His life a meaningless jumble of things he should have done. His last thought, he forced himself to push all others away, was that soon, very soon . . . he’d be with his Janey.

And with that Dekards brain stopped.



.

The only light in the room was an eerie glow from the guinea pig next to her. Her skin had a soft, green glow. Wren wasn't sure if Eugenics had engineered the mutation themselves or if the mutation was why the corporation took interest in her, but she wasn't going to be around to find out. She breathed deeply, letting her resolve settle deep in her gut, and then stood.

She strutted to the door with singular intent, opening it and turning to face the guard there in one deft movement. Her hands were about his neck before he could make a sound, pumping his veins with white-hot electricity that rendered him instantly immobile. The body sank, slack-jawed with vacant eyes to the floor.

Funny how his expression is nearly the exact same, Wren thought as she gingerly stepped over the body and made her way to the exit. The past week and a half of docile, complacent behavior would never have fooled A into believing she was content to stick around and play lab rat so Wren kicked it up a notch. Shy, curious questions combined with lingering looks and affectionate brushes of the hand had melted the woman like butter. Wide eyes, a short frame, and her obviously humane features made the innocent routine easy for her.

Loathe as she was to admit it, she might actually miss A when she was out of here. Life here wasn't bad, she had made something close to friends and she was always well fed and even entertained but she was treated like a child. She missed the rowdy bar patrons, missed the smell of salt and rust, she missed the shit food she ate at home and the watered down coffee and she really fucking missed her cat.

It was her cat, in fact, that had been the final straw. She'd asked A about her before she was sent to her "room" for the night.

A was running her fingers through Wren's hair while she explained the process by which they were currently trying to clone her. She'd made all the appropriate comments and asked the right questions but she couldn't get Cat off her mind. Finally she just asked.

"A, I have a cat at home and I was just wondering if I could call someone to feed her?"

The question took the woman by surprise, her hand stilling in Wren's hair a moment before she continued, smile firmly in place. "We'll have your kitty brought here, of course. You can take care of her yourself, Wren."

She swallowed tightly, her mouth felt dry. A didn't intend to let her return to her old life soon, if ever. Perhaps she'd gotten caught up in the charade and was becoming the pet that A so obviously wanted her to be.

Back in the present, Wren glanced at the security cameras as she walked past them, waiting for more guards or at least a lab technician up working late to discover her. They didn't come. She could almost taste freedom as she rounded the corner that faced the door, ready to feel the gray filtered light of Nu New York on her face once again.

Horus ..........

The light below him dimmed, stuttered and switched off. His seed was ready. His focus narrowed, locating the blankly drifting body. Below another predator sniffed the water and began to rise, eyes rolled back and toothed maw agape. “Mine,” Horus roared and the ocean cowered. The huge, white bellied fish rolled away in submission. It flicked its head, its large black lifeless eye watching as it obeyed the law of survival, there was always a bigger fish.

If it had been capable of processing what it witnessed, then it would have seen a powerful golden figure, with the muscled torso of a man and the head of a magnificent falcon, swoop, clutch then rise. A broken, limp grey meat sack in its arms. But all it knew . . . was that there was always a bigger fish.

Deep blue gave way to green, then translucent blue to clear silver. Horus broke the surface, water droplets streaming away leaving his body smooth and silky dry. The meat sack was different, waterlogged, floppy, indifferent. Horus searched within and bit something. It sparked. Not much, just enough. The body could be repaired or not, but the mind must live.

Fast eyes scanned vistas of grey concrete and shining chrome, searching out the dark and seedy. Back alleys, culverts and grates, vents with tendrils of greasy steam rising seductively. All held promise, but he needed more, more space. A service entrance, a dark tunnel was found.

He flew in plain sight, but no one saw. Horus flew through crowded streets and busy throngs, seeking his hole. A by product of the dirty mass transit days, perfect. He entered the tunnel, dropping to his feet, pausing for a second. He searched and found his vessel. He grinned, she was strong and she had started her journey. Soon they would all meet, very soon.

Horus stepped into the darkness and disappeared inside. Carrying his meat. And barely perceptible to any but him, the tiniest spark of a person . . .


.

A stood in the doorway, alone and unarmed. Suddenly she looked slight and terribly weak. Despite all that had been done to her, Wren came to a stop...waiting. Where was the brute squad? The alarms? By now she knew full well what her body was worth to these people and yet...one scientist, unarmed. A's hands were folded in front of her, expression solemn. Hell, the woman had the gall to look hurt.

"Wren, are you lost?" she was using her mother-voice. She used it to speak to the younger guinea pigs.

"No," Wren responded simply, inching closer to the door, wary of the woman before her.

"Ah, so you really are trying to leave me then...after all that I've done for you. Honestly, little bird, I thought perhaps we'd gotten beyond this. I thought we were friends." The word was a weapon. Wren felt the sting that A'd intended it to deliver. She dismissed it. Stockholm Syndrome or her own longing for friends, family, all the things a person saw on old TV reruns.

Hands flew up, electricity surging from her palms into the increasingly frail-looking woman. Her knees buckled and she fell to the floor, the plea in her eyes fading as the hardened and malice took its place.

The alarms began to sound Wren sprinted out of the building, early morning mist hitting her hot cheeks. She pushed harder, barely making out of the gates before they slammed closed. She ran and ran and ran.

Dekard ………

Everything hurt, everything. His body was a blaze of fire and his head was the worst of it. Opening his eyes didn’t help. Everything was blood red and swirling glue like. Blood hammered at his temples, pounding incessantly.

Dekard tried to breath and tasted bile. his vision greyed and he choked on a mouthful of vomit. His vision went again but he felt himself being turned on his side and his mouth being held open. He retched again. Not delicate sick but a thick, industrial weight chunder.

As he lapsed back into darkness he had the weirdest dream, of a great golden bird, covered in blood and entrails, whistling as it cut and created, welding metal to flesh with a grinning shriek.



Horus ..........

He travelled down dank tunnel after dank tunnel. He almost broke into song. He loved it down here. You really could tell a lot about a family by looking in its toilet and down here . . . all of humanities wastes came eventually. Broken dreams and lost souls cavorting with the hobos and fat sewer rats.

He found a dark siding and placed the wrecked body down. He ran his hands through his feathers, locked his hands together, reversing them and cracked his knuckles. He had resisted singing before but he really did enjoy his work and broke into a spontaneous rendition of “I Did it My Way ...” his voice a tone and pitch perfect match for Sinatra. Damn he loved this world. Out of the countless millions of habitable worlds, this one still captivated him. "Was it crazy, certainly, fucked up, without a doubt." But its early children had loved him, and he’d always returned whenever he could. His brand of trouble fitting in perfectly with the stuttering civilisations seedy undercurrents.

At one point the seed show signs of life, “Oh poor me, I should have dressed,” Horus chided himself as he stopped to wipe some gore off his hands. His arms were deep red from claw to elbow and the whole tunnel reeked of burnt flesh and something worse, bad enough for the rats and scavenger cats to head in the opposite direction

Deep down somewhere in the tunnel a hobo stirred, sitting up. Despite the wet heat coming from the steam vent behind his back, he was mortally chilled to the bone. He staggered up, shuffling away as fast as his weak legs could carry him. In his ears rang a tune he already wished he could erase. Blood curdling screams mixed with dulcet tones . . .

“For the record shows . . . I took my blows . . . And did it MYYYYY WAYYYYYY!”


.

Then she stopped. Silence. The alarms had long since died down and anyone that had been pursuing her was lost by now. After all her fleeing, she'd finally wound up in the worst part of town. All of Nu New York was dilapidated, dying but the area she'd ended up with was right at the heart of the decay.

Deep, heaving breaths wracked her body and she walked in tight circles, arms over her head to increase the airflow. Even if they hadn't pursued her ardently, Eugenics would most certainly be at the house. She hadn't even begun to plot, considering the options for rescuing Cat, before she heard a small meow.

Weaving between her legs was a very thin, very affectionate feline.

"Oh, Cat!" Wren explained, scooping the feline into her arms and burying her face in dark fur. The dank, slimy wall she rested upon began to vibrate with some sort of commotion but she was too busy nuzzling her friend to notice.

"What a clever girl!" she cooed, stoking the animal as she began to wander deeper into the dredges of the city. The street itself was shaking now, the fait melody of a forgotten tune coming up through the grates that led to the sewer. Shuddering, Wren pulled cat closer to her chest.

"We'd better hurry and find a place, kitten."

Cat meowed her assent.

Horus ..........

Horus stepped back and admired his handiwork. “Not bad, not bad indeed. You deserve a pat on the back,” he paused then carried on in a bemused voice, “Just a pat, surely not just a pat?” He argued playfully back and forwards with himself, as the meat lay in impassive silence beneath him and only the most inquisitive of rats, looked on in equally silent bemusement. Suddenly he was starved, he looked around and the few rats that had returned scampered away. “Run along little rodentia,” he called after them. “For I need something a little bigger than you.”

He poked at the body below him with his mind. Blood was flowing again, the pump and associated veins, arteries and capillaries all doing their job. The mind was alive too, dulled, partially shut down which was part of its defence, but considering, it wasn’t in too bad shape. Now was the time to do a little tidying and reconstruction. Delving into the neocortex he opened closed pathways and tickled neurons. Fibrous axons were massaged, some reconnected, some additional ones fabricated from left over micro-tissue. Nothing too radical was required , he didn’t require or want a lethargic host. All he needed was a home, something capable first, and maybe just a little comfortable second, and this Dekard, fitted both requirements most admirably.

He thought about the moment of joining, realising even with his tweaks and improvements, that the seed would still need some sleep time to mend. Watching his new protégé, he almost wistfully considered the lengths he’d had to go to to engineer this moment. He made a mental marker to remember to shut of some of his own memories when they joined. It wouldn’t do for the seed to see his hand in its partners death. She certainly was resilient, he mused as he thought back. Each time he failed an organ, they’d replaced it and her own body had fought back, assimilating and making unheard of recoveries. Strange in it’s own way. Still, eventually her body had wasted and she’d met her end. In just the right way, and at just the right time.

He growled as his belly rumbled. He should feed now while he could, the seed would be okay down here on its own, for a little while at least. Something familiar intruded. His eyes lit up and he tipped his head back letting out a joyful shriek. The vessel was close, very close now. He had to go eat, quickly . . . and with that he flew up the tunnel, looping and kicking up a flurry of spray, revelling in the sheer joy of a cunning plan coming to fruition ……



.

A shudder went down her spine when Wren finally noticed the trembling of the ground as it stopped. Other details that ought to have come to her attention earlier began to stand out. Cat was the only animal on the entire street in a city notorious for its rats and not a single light was on. Even now it was known as the city that never sleeps. Especially now.

"It's okay, Cat," she murmured to her pet, clutching the animal closer to her chest. A 'vacancy' sign flickered weakly, as if it too was about go give out. "See, a place to stay and we can get the hell out of this city tomorrow."

A wrinkled old nearly man jumped from his chair when Wren opened the door to the hotel. Cat jumped from her arms and began to stalk the lobby, it shitty enough to feel like home to the both of them. Wren apologized to the man and inquired about the vacancy. His eyes ran up and down her form salaciously once he settled down.

"Need a room, Miss?"

She gave him her best smile and nodded, shaking off his lecherous glance. He accepted the number of her backup account, the one linked to a dead aunt's name. The man took her wrist and led her to a room on the top floor, casting a disgusted look at the animal trailing behind them.

"Checkout's noon," he grumbled, glancing freely at her breasts before leaving her to the room. She was left to contemplate the drab, peeling wallpaper. Sighing, she threw herself onto the bed, springs squeaking in protest. Laying sprawled on the bed made her feel vulnerable and she soon found herself curled up in the middle of the bed, gazing out the window.

Horus ..........

Time to stir the pot a little he thought. Dangerous, yes, but then what was existence without a little risk. Horus shimmered and peered through the grimy, be-stickered reception window. Truth be told, he also felt a little naughty today. He could have picked anyone, or even dispatched this one without this sort of fuss. A couple of things gave him cause to think however. This one would help steer the vessel down the path with a little less work for him, and it had also crossed over the line. Killing two birds with one stone. He twittered to himself, “Tehehehe, two birds . . .” he so loved his sense of fun sometimes.

He watched the wrinkled old man go about his business. “Business, huh, filthy wizened fuck.” The old man had certainly wasted no time. He’d twisted old worn switches and licked his lips while pushing a dirty and used VCR tape into the ancient machine. Somehow that almost made it worse, old tape had its own seedy following, the underground raincoat brigade paying even more for low rate porn when it was on grubby outmoded video. The man twiddled dials. The screens jumped from a couple having a tryst, complete with the requisite moans and overused groans, to an almost silent room. The screen flickered and the man gave it a displeased bash, dislodging greasy magazines from their sticky perch on top of the monitor. He worked a joystick and the picture zoomed and focused. It focused on his vessel.

Horus licked his hands and ran them down his plumage, smoothing and preening, before ringing the after hours bell and standing there waiting, his hands politely behind his back. The man swore and lurched out from behind the desk, cussing all the customers he’d ever had, as only an ex-seaman could. Horus bit back a grin and put on his sweetest face. The door opened and the man stood there, staring. His mouth opened and flapped once, his bowel loosening and flooding his trouser and shoe, dripping out onto the worn concrete step. His face was frozen, indeed oddly so. Later when they shoveled his remains into the grey-green rubber bag, that was the only recognisable feature, meatless bones and things even a dog wouldn’t digest being its only other travelling partners.

Before he left Horus allowed a talon to scrape across her window and, as she stirred, sent her an invite to join him in the sewer


.