Chapter 4:
Angel stepped beside Ray and followed his horror-struck gaze. She gasped.
Grayson lay at the corner of the corridor where it turned off into a right angle. His paramedic uniform was drenched—in blood. Specifically, his own. The blood seemed to be originating from his abdomen.
To say the least, Professor Utonium was appalled. No matter how old he behaved, Grayson was still only a teenager. And now it would appear as though he had been brutally murdered.
Angel recovered first. She was racing down the corridor and on her knees beside him in a matter of seconds. Instinctively, she checked his pulse.
"Weak," she breathed. "Weak but there."
Then, she inspected the wound. Despite the fact that her expression remained grim and her mouth was a straight line as usual, it was clear that it troubled her deeply.
Ray followed after her as soon as he regained his wits, Professor Utonium right behind him. The redheaded pilot dropped at his brother's side and closed his eyes shaking his head as though trying to shake off a dream. But when he opened his eyes, it was all still there. All too real.
"Horatio," Angel called, her voice unwavering and with its usual tone, "Your flaming abilities are required."
"Huh?" he breathed, not quite registering everything she had said, totally zoned.
Angel looked to him sharply, not in the mood to tolerate cluelessness or obliviousness but understanding that he was suffering from a bit of shock. "You can heat your hands to the temperature of fire without them bursting into flames, can you not?"
Still dazed, Ray nodded slightly.
Angel took a deep breath. This is why she worked inside the medical field—during situations like this her associates would not hesitate and would stifle their shock or whatever else emotions temporarily to get the job done. But she was restraining herself from snapping at him because she had to understand that this was his brother and viewing one's sibling beaten and bloody was not something one could simply recover from on the spot.
"Good," she nodded, keeping her voice even and calm, "Do it."
His hands had a slight orange glow to it.
Professor Utonium stood back a few feet. Angel would have called him if there was anything he could do at the moment. And he wasn't certain if this was something he wanted to view up close.
"Fire sterilizes wounds," explained Angel. She raised Grayson's shirt and took Horatio's forearms to guide him—or use his hands as medical utensils.
Ray closed his eyes tightly, the situation a bit too gruesome and graphic for his taste. He tried to ignore the feeling of her placing his hands inside Grayson's wounds. But something he couldn't ignore was Grayson's agonized exclamations at his excruciatingly scorching touch.
Each time Grayson screamed, he dipped his head and winced.
"Professor," beckoned Angel, "Contact Circuit—I need a stretcher stat."
The professor nodded and complied. Angel turned back to her work. She spared a glance at Grayson's face, regretting it instantly. His bloody face was twisted in extensive pain. She looked away quickly, her expression waving momentarily. It's incredible he's managed to hold on this long. . .
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The murderous, mutated fiend stood at the deepest point in the Off Zone—as close to space as she could reach. Her wild orange hair frizzed about her head like mane almost and her pointed ears and yellow cat-like eyes were just a few of her peculiar features. More included her orangey peach-tinted skin and her long, place fingernails. On the back of her hands, two black daggers protruded like Wolverine's. Blood dripped from them. At her mental command, the blades retracted back under her skin.
Her sexy, orange and black attire was stained in Grayson's blood, not that she really minded. It didn't bother her warped mind in the least.
In her right hand, she held Grayson's communicator. She toyed with the transmission signals until she came to a very familiar setting. She pressed a button to the side and spoke into the speaker.
"Alchem?" she called. "It's Snare. I need a lift."
Long static.
"Ah, Snare. What a pleasure it is to hear from you. Where are you?"
"AFGB station—Off Zone," Snare replied, "I'd swipe a 'glider but security's heavy."
"I'll be there soon. Be ready. And Snare—"
"Yes?"
"Another failure, another capture, and I may not be so gracious unto you."
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DeeDee woke to a concerned, young face above her. The young face was peculiar—pale, platinum blonde messy hair around it, round silver spectacles on it.
She slowly recovered from the sedative that the Fusion had tranquilized her with, blinking several times.
"Is the wady awake, Willie?" asked a shrill voice.
"Yea," the boy nodded, backing away slightly. Kindly, he helped DeeDee sit up when she was strong enough.
When DeeDee regained her voice, she asked, "Who are you two? Where are we?"
"We're in a detention cell," the boy replied glumly, "Onboard the Toxic Society's space station."
DeeDee's brow furrowed slightly with confusion and she was about to ask more when the second person who had spoken earlier answered her first question.
"My name's Willa!" a tiny blonde girl in a long pink dress answered. She latched onto the almost-silver-haired boy. "This is my Bubby—Willie."
"William," Willie clarified. "William Peterson—Cadet Peterson, I mean."
"Oh," DeeDee noted with recognition of the names. She hadn't wandered off before the disappearance of two children and an operative by the name of Peterson was mentioned. "You're the kids that went missing, right?"
William nodded. "You know?"
"Someone mentioned it," she replied.
William looked away sadly, his younger sister nuzzling into his neck.
"They are looking for you," added DeeDee.
He looked back at her, his eyes appearing larger than they were because of his extensively magnified lenses, and forced a slight smile.
The small room didn't appear to have a door, but none the less a section slid back and in stepped a helmeted figure in a dark green jumpsuit with the logo TS on the left side of the chest. The figure ripped Willa from William and tossed her to the ground, hoisting William forcefully by his upper arm.
"Hey!" DeeDee exclaimed, "Leave them alone!"
The mouthless creature glared at her. Not intimidated, DeeDee stood, nearly the Fusion's height and tried to reach for William. Taking not of this, the Fusion trooper whipped out the blaster holstered at his side and jabbed the barrel into William's back. DeeDee reluctantly backed down and watched helplessly as the boy was dragged away.
The section of the wall slid back and the four-year-old girl sniffled. "Bubby."
As she started to cry, DeeDee quickly took up her sisterly role and cradled the little girl in her gangly arms. She cooed comforting words to Willa.
As the small girl began to drift off to sleep, questions reeled through DeeDee's mind. Where was this place? What did these Fusions want from them? And . . . had Dexter even noticed she was gone?
