Thank you for your lovely comments!
I hope this chapter redeems the squads' worth for some of you.
Chapter Nine
Heracles drummed his fingers against the table top as he listened to a report from one of his drones. Everything was running on schedule; his people were in place and prepared to move on his command. He'd lost his dream-link with the Wells-Bering champion and missed having an opportunity to congratulate the young woman on her first kill. Though he regretted the loss of his favourite companion, the voice in the back of his mind knew that Christina Wells-Bering would be reeling from her actions and lamented being unable to salt that wound. There might still come an opportunity when they finally came face to face and he put the thought away to revisit later.
He had truly believed that Cassandra would be with him until the end. His faithful commander was strong and resourceful, she had experience of combat that spanned centuries but was defeated by a woman (barely a woman) who had only ever played at war. Conflict played within him; his conscious mind flicking between anger and… sorrow? – he wasn't sure that he recognised that emotion any longer – but the voice dismissed his feelings and set him back on the path. Cassandra would have served her purpose in life or death; either by bringing the champion to them, or by testing her fortitude. The voice placated him with the notion that they could honour the commander's contributions when victory was theirs. Reluctantly, he put aside the pain in his chest and trusted the influence inside him, as he had grown used to doing.
He'd underestimated Christina's skill and her survival instinct. He thought he'd worn her down and pushed her far enough past the point of caution to make her careless, but she was more resilient than that. Yes, he'd sowed the seed that took her to Cassandra's campground, but she hadn't let her failure cripple her. A mixture of excitement and apprehension gripped him with this information.
With Miss Wells-Bering's unresponsive slumber closing off one option though, he turned his attentions more fully to his offspring and his plans to retrieve the boy. Through Ansgar's dreams, he'd made contact and over many weeks he'd managed to regain the trust that they'd had before Mathild's flight. Taking advantage of Ansgar's age and naivety, it had been relatively easy to persuade the young boy of his sincerity and to sew doubt regarding his ward.
The boy would find a way off the caretaker's island headquarters somehow. Once that happened, Heracles could send someone to pick him up. If Mathild tried to interfere, he would find a permanent solution for her, and not one as comfortable as given to the boy's mother.
He had to give credit to Miss Donovan; however she had chosen to hide her headquarters from his sight, it worked well. Even through Ansgar's night time memories, he had been unable to figure out where precisely the island lay. It wouldn't make a difference to him in the end he was sure, but it irked him that the young ones had managed to deceive him.
The more challenging his opponent, the sweeter the taste of his victory would be. Over a millennium, he'd proved his worth time and again – discovering Claudia Donovan's whereabouts and seizing the Warehouse from her tiny army might be more perilous and problematic than he'd calculated, but his determination was buoyed by the challenge that rose before him.
As the drone finished and returned to its seat, Heracles smiled coldly. It was time to move to the next phase.
Time continued to move along the way it always does: without consideration for feelings or the other needs of mortals. So, your entire world has just been turned upside-down? So, you want to curl up into a ball and pretend that you don't exist for a few days? Time will not wait for you, so you'd better be prepared to sacrifice that portion of your life.
A loving, caring family can help to ease the process along though. In the Wells-Bering house, there was always someone to turn to when the weight of the world was upon you. Serious talks were draining though so, after a couple of days, they knew they had to take a break for something frivolous…
Tears of laughter dripped off the end of Myka's chin as she sat at the table in the old playroom with her family. The sound of jollity was still slightly discordant with the grief that lingered, but it was the balm that soothed a wound. Drinks and bowls of snacks littered the surface around the game they were playing. Forgotten by Myka, Pictionary was the great equaliser amongst them. Helena might have some ability with drawing technical diagrams for her inventions but when it came to quick sketches of the everyday, her efforts fell short, and the result caused uproar.
"Now I can see why you refuse to play this game," Myka wheezed through a gulp of much needed air. She clutched a hand to her chest and tried to breathe through the chuckles, but her gaze fell back on the picture and she collapse again into hysterics.
Cat stood behind her American mother, her arms falling either side of the regent's shoulders as she hid and threw comments at the inventor. "It looks like when Spyder threw up that frog-spawn that he ate!"
HG's eyes narrowed playfully. She couldn't say that the events of the last few days had been fun in any way, but renewed closeness with her children was the silver lining that made it all bearable. Seeing smiles and hearing laughter in the house again made her heavy-heart lighter, her grief less acute.
"That is precisely what I was going for," she bluffed and pulled on a veneer of confidence. She picked up the card she'd pulled from the pile and held it up to read. "Cat vomit consisting of pre-formed amphibians."
While no one truly believed that statement, Cat insisted 'It doesn't say that!' and made a move to grab the card, beginning a spirited tussle with her Mum. Freddy and Christina began conferring in whispers as they tried to guess the actual answer, while Myka picked up the empty popcorn bowl and made her way to the kitchen for a refill. As she placed the bag in the microwave and keyed numbers into the timer, she had no idea that it would count down to the attack.
Kipling seethed as he stared out at the back of Wells' house. The bitch had done it again – after all the effort he went through to bide his time and wait to find the youngest spawn at a vulnerable point, he found now that the girl was alive again. He'd felt so sure that the teen's death would derail Helena Wells, crippling her irreparably, but there they were, playing and laughing, like nothing had happened.
Back in 1891, after HG Wells returned from France with a child, who she claimed was the orphan of a family servant, he'd been certain that she would be dismissed from being an agent. No matter who her personal connections were, surely there was no sense in allowing the woman to continue chasing artefacts when she was should be at home with her child. After the incident with the American, where he'd been a little heavy handed in his role, he'd had to jump through several hoops before being allowed to serve (on a probationary period) as an agent. When HG waltzed in not six months later, inserted herself into an investigation that had been giving him trouble and tracked down the artefact within the space of two hours, he decided there and then that if he ever had an opportunity to take her down a peg or twenty, he wouldn't hesitate.
More than once she foiled his plans, but his eventual dismissal came as a blessing in disguise. It was this freedom from the Warehouse that had provided him with the opportunity to follow Wells' child to France. Watching the girl, he noted the illness that kept her housebound and, with a few whispered words near a den of thieves, convinced two scoundrels that the wealthy residence was ripe for the taking. He had thought only to begin a reign of terror on the child and thus force HG to abandon her post, but on hearing of the eight-year-old's death, he felt victory in all of its glory.
Shortly after the funeral, of which he'd observed from afar, Cassandra had approached him and taken him to Heracles. While Kipling's victories had been short-lived so far, today he had his heart set on the ultimate prize.
He'd crowed long and loud about his success in killing the youngest girl and now he looked like a fool. Wells seemed to have a knack for showing him up to his peers, but she wouldn't do so for much longer. He'd had the order to advance and his team needed to make their move before the next patrol came past.
The young man who courted the elder Wells child – the first of Kipling's victims – he and a small group had buzzed around like flies on dung since the last attack on the family, leaving Kipling feeling slightly nervous that his actions had disrupted Heracles' plans after all. If he could get his men into the house before the body guards returned, he'd be home free.
With a wave of his hand, two dozen bodies appeared behind him as if out of thin air and began to swarm into the Wells-Bering's garden. She would not escape him again! He had nothing to live for but this and not even fear of his master's wrath would stop him from carving out his own path.
After the disaster of responding to the fake S.O.S, only to lose the youngest of their charges to the enemy, Alpha Squad were operating on high-alert. Squad leader Thomas, aka Ant, had them running regular patrols of the area around the Wells-Bering house, just waiting for an attack. Claudia assured them that they would be needed before too much longer, and it appeared that today was that day.
Without the wards working, HG and Myka had been forced to resort to conventional means for early warning. Everyone was well versed with the family's escape plan and the second their communicators lit up like the fourth of July, they dropped everything they were doing and converged on the house.
Ace was already on scene, her perch in the treehouse offering her a great view of the treeline and the small army that appeared as if out of thin air. Knowing that backup was on the way, she picked up her rifle and took aim.
"Simon says freeze," she whispered to herself and hugged the trigger gently.
The first shot hit her target in the chest, dead centre. The charging woman shuddered to a halt, the tiny projectile sending shocks through her body and knocking her to the ground. Ace didn't waste time checking whether the tesla bullet had done its job, she simply shifted her barrel and sights to the next target and squeezed. Four of the enemy's soldiers met this fate before the rest of the squad arrived and began their struggle to secure the house and its grounds. As Ant, Ark and Aggie took up the fight, Ace paused to reassess the battle.
They were outnumbered six to one and she hoped fervently that the regents and their family had managed to reach the basement. A man in a waistcoat appeared to be leading the attack and had made swift progress across the lawn, flanked by two brutish-looking comrades. At the back of the house, the trio paused to look around before the two thugs picked up a hefty plant pot and rammed it against the door. Ace shouldered her rifle, preparing to put a stop to their advance but paused as her gaze swept the scene below.
All around there was evidence of the squad's successful teamwork; several bodies littered the ground and in a matter of only a minute or two, the ratio had evened out considerably. Before any of them could begin to feel pleased by this result though, the enemy, who should have remained unconscious for several hours, began to climb back to their feet. Where the garden had been half-filled with 'sleeping' figures, it quickly returned to a battle field and Alpha Squad found themselves once more overwhelmed.
Ace weighed up the options and re-adjusted her rifle so that it homed in on the cannon-fodder again. Down on the ground, Ant directed his two other squad mates as best he could in the chaos and tried to thin out the opposition with a more concussive attack.
Claudia had been busy over the years, making her own line of tesla and goo weaponry, continuing with the offensive, non-lethal theme, but she had listened when her squads had suggested the need for a backup. While guns might have no place in a civilised society and no one wanted to end another person's life, they all agreed that there needed to be prepared if they had to make that choice, so live ammunition was added to their arsenal. That was a last resort however. If goo and electro-shock didn't fell their enemy, the redhead wanted to incapacitate them in another way. Claudia's solution? The Itty-Bitty Bronzer!
Ant took a breath between flurries, conserving his energy and giving himself micro-seconds to figure out the enemy's plan. So far, all he could devise was their use of sheer numbers to cover for the few who were attempting to gain entry into the house. Unlike his own troops, these soldiers were expendable and he wondered whether Heracles had hinged his plan on the belief that the 'white-hats' wouldn't immediately try killing.
With enemies at the gate and his girlfriend and her family needing time to escape though, he knew he had to change tactics, and quickly. Never mind that he didn't really understand the caretaker's rambling explanation of how the weapon worked, Ant always paid close attention to the part where he learned how to use his arsenal. Reaching to the small of his back, he removed an odd, triangular shaped device and wound his fingers into the handle.
"Switch to IBBs!" he called into his communicator and pointed the weapon at the nearest opponent.
A rusty coloured wave of energy flowed unerringly from the end and suffused the enemy soldier's upper body. It took a few seconds to take effect and Ant was forced to fend off another attack before he could fully assess the results. With one free hand, he landed a punch on a square jaw and followed with a leg sweep, bringing the man to the ground. Acting on impulse, he aimed once more with the Itty-Bitty Bronzer and watched hopefully as another soldier froze. Before anyone else could grab his attention, he glanced back at his last target and tempted fate with a smile. A hard case of bronze covered his assailant and though eyes continued to blink behind a translucent mask, the woman didn't appear to be going anywhere for a while.
At last, Alpha Squad's efforts began to make a difference and gradually brought the garden-battle to a stand-still. While trying to cut through the crowd, they'd lost precious time and one look at the house confirmed the squad leader's fear – the enemy had managed to make their way in. The large window to the games room lay shattered on the ground and Mr. Waistcoat had disappeared with his cronies. Ant knew that he needed to investigate before more time passed, but first he needed to liaise with his team. It would be no good if he raced inside only to leave the exterior open to further attack.
Pushing his anxiety for Christina from the forefront of his mind, he called the squad together and laid out his plan, "I don't know why the tesla bullets didn't work on these guys and I don't know how long the bronze will hold them," he explained quickly. "But the house has been breached and we need to check inside." As the closest person to the Wells-Bering family, he wanted to be the one to go, but as the one in charge of the squad, he knew that he needed to remain outside to co-ordinate the others. "Ace, I want your eyes back up in that tree, I'll hold the ground with Aggie at the back door while Ark goes inside." He turned to a young man only a few years older than himself. "Ark, any hint of trouble and you radio in, understand?"
"Aye, aye," Ark saluted and took off running towards the house, his path winding around the frozen bodies.
Stepping carefully over the piles of broken glass and furniture, Ark made his way through the games room, living room and into the hallway. Passed the stairs, he found the door to the basement in pieces and paused to swap his weapon for a standard gun. If the regents were in any kind of trouble down there, he couldn't waste time waiting for the IBB to take effect.
He hovered in the opening for several seconds, listening intently. As far as he could tell, nothing in the basement was moving, but he trod carefully regardless. Not only was the descent liberally covered in bits of broken door, he didn't want to risk tipping someone off if anyone was waiting down there.
Cautious steps took him down to an atrium where he paused again. To his left, a door led to the old school room and HG's lab, to the right, an open door offered a portal to the family's escape route where the teleporter had been moved in preparation for this day. A quick glance around the door frame confirmed his hope that there was no threat of attack waiting, but despite this, his heart dropped into his stomach; four bodies littered the floor and a pile of ash sat against a wall. Two lay on their stomachs, arms tied behind their backs and wriggling uselessly, but the other two lay unmoving.
Reaching for his communicator, he called frantically into the mic, "Regents down! I need a medic in the basement STAT!"
The microwave pinged at the exact moment that the perimeter alarm was tripped, giving Myka a second of confusion as she tried to separate the two homogeneous sounds. Shouting followed, both from inside and out, and chaos erupted.
Abandoning the popcorn, Myka fled the kitchen and met her family in the hallway. Helena was already herding their children towards the basement when a sound akin to a battering-ram hit the back door. Cat jumped and grabbed the back of her brother's t-shirt as Freddy led the way down the stairs. The exterior doors had locked automatically when the alarm sounded, so they had a few seconds of reprieve, but the regents exchanged a look and a thought – how long would it take before the home-invaders tried to break through the windows?
Christina's phone buzzed as she stepped towards the basement and she paused to read the screen. "Tommy's outside," she whisper-shouted before pressing her thumb to the home button. Ignoring her parents' gentle shoving, she swiped the screen and began to read, "Alpha Squad have engaged."
Seeing the reluctance to move on the young woman's face, HG grasped her arm. "They will do what they can to secure the area then. Our job is to get to safety."
"I can help them," Christina hesitated.
"Sweetheart, if you stay, Freddy will, and if both of you do, Cat will. We have to leave. Now," Myka insisted, her speech fast and edging on frantic. "Once we're gone, Alpha Squad will have fewer risks to take."
Christina nodded and shoved her phone into her pocket as she disappeared down the stairs. She would text Thomas the second the transporter spat her out on the other side; once he knew that they were safe, he could take a step back. HG and Myka followed, bolting the door behind them just as glass exploded from the direction of the games room.
Having rehearsed their exit strategy a dozen times before, they each grabbed a bag from hooks on the wall and gathered around the inventor's latest masterpiece. The transporter came to life with the push of a button and they waited what felt like a lifetime for it to wake up.
More sounds of destruction reached them from above and they each tried hard not to picture their home being trampled upon and decimated. Cat's rigid stance trembled with each thud and shout and she reached out to pull at her mama's sleeve.
"Ma, I don't want to leave Spyder," she pleaded.
Myka gazed down into worried hazel and sighed. She felt horrible for what she needed to say, but it wasn't the first time they'd approached this topic. "Cat, you know why we can't take him with us. I'm sorry, but we can't go searching for him. Our lives have to come first." She kissed the girl's head and brushed her hair back. "Trust that he'll find the escape route that you built. If he needs it."
Cat nodded reluctantly and lined up beside her sister. HG stood by the controls and gave her eldest a thumbs-up when the machine was finally ready. As they could only travel one at a time, they'd agreed that Christina would go first, followed by Cat, Freddy, Myka and then HG last, so that she could address problems if there were any.
The youngsters disappeared in consecutive showers of sparks, leaving Myka to step up to the plate, but as her fingers slipped from her wife's, an almighty crash and the sound of splitting wood and bending metal echoed around them. Helena reached for the button to send the brunette safely on her way, but Myka had already jumped down from the platform and stood fast, ready to face whatever horror was descending towards them.
Helena sighed with exasperation and frustration. "Damn it, Myka," she grumbled and reached for her tesla.
"Did you think for a second that I could leave you alone after that?" she nodded at the door which led towards the stairs. Someone had breached the basement. They'd known that the reinforced door would only hold against conventional attempts to ram it – whoever was coming had to have artefact help. Reaching into her bag, she grabbed a small, glove-like object – a gift from her wife – and slipped it onto her right hand. In the other, she pulled out her own tesla.
A cacophony of falling debris tumbled down the stairs, followed by stumbling boots. A figure appeared, glanced around and then locked eyes with the inventor. HG's dark orbs widened, and then narrowed with hatred as a growl gathered in her throat. Bringing with him the stench of death, the intruder stepped confidently into the room and two bodies emerged to flank him.
A malevolent gaze swept the room and landed on the hulking, whirring machine. "You never were idle, Miss Wells," he noted. "A shame it won't save you today."
"Kipling," Helena seethed. She didn't care that he insisted on using her maiden name to get a rise out of her; she didn't care that he continued to cling to his outdated views on women; but the knowledge of how much this man had tried to take from her – it bit into her very core.
"Agent Kipling," he iterated, his left eye ticking with irritation. "I will finally teach you your place."
Myka felt rage pouring from her wife and tried to counter it, but it was useless. Her own anger with this particular enemy was strong and each time she tried to conjure something pleasant to think about, an image of Catherine – laid out on the ground, lifeless – came back to her and she felt her teeth clench with the effort not to charge at him.
Helena stood like a coiled snake, ready to strike. She was no longer the impulsive young woman who would have jumped into the fray without care for the consequences. She had grown as a person and recalled the reasons she had to live. It stayed her hand for a moment, but since she and Myka were backed into a corner, there wasn't much chance of this encounter ending without a fight.
"Capitulate, Helena," he taunted. "You have lost. Be shrewd enough to realise it." He waited for the couple to respond – either to surrender or beg for their lives – but they simply stared at him, no hint of alarm on their expressions. Confused and frustrated, he huffed. "There are three of us," he pointed out needlessly.
"I'm aware," HG scoffed. "Hardly a reasonable way to end our conflict…"
Myka's mouth twitched into a small grin. She heard the ridicule in her wife's words and felt a thrill in her stomach. Even on the cusp of a fight, she couldn't help falling a little more in love. With nothing else to say, she finished the inventor's thought, "… You should have brought more men."
Their defiance cut into Kipling, tangling him in his own sense of self-importance. Incensed by their refusal to bow to his superiority, he sneered and gestured to the goons either side of him. "Don't let them leave this room."
Even with the tight space, it didn't take the regents long to render the two men unconscious. The buzzing of teslas filled the room and the figures dropped to the floor at their feet. For the briefest of seconds, they wondered if their escape would really be so easy, but Kipling's smirk gave them pause and, before they could blink, the men twitched before climbing again to their feet.
HG holstered her weapon and raised a stoic eyebrow. "I presume we're doing this with fisticuffs then."
The thugs' combined bulk gave them an advantage in the compact space that even kenpo couldn't help the couple avoid entirely. Kipling hovered, watching with delight as punishing blows rained down on the women. His own men took their share of assaults and more than once were brought to their knees, but not until he spied a clear opening – a moment of vulnerability – did he strike.
Having crept around, closer to his former colleague, Kipling reached into his waistcoat and felt for the small knife that he'd kept for this very occasion. After Bering's disappearance from 1890 with the Wells brat, the elder Wells regents had convinced their friends to keep a close eye on him. Unable to recover their trust, he'd pushed his boundaries until they dismissed him from the Warehouse's service. Before leaving, he'd stolen and kept this petite instrument-of-death, knowing that someday he might have a chance to drag its shiny blade across HG's pretty throat. To silence her smart-mouthed barbs forever. This was his chance.
Wells had excellent balance, but even she couldn't defy gravity indefinitely and stumbled as she ducked the swing of a beefy arm. Kipling watched as she used her momentum to twist behind her assailant, grabbing a length of cord from a shelf close by. His eyes narrowed as he watched her pull the man's arm behind his back and wrap him up in knots. A victory. But not for long.
Even as the American caught onto the success and looked for something to hog-tie her own opponent, Kipling wrapped his arms around HG from behind and forced the knife up beneath her jaw. A sound halfway between surprise and pain reached his ears and he grinned. "I have you now… Miss Wells," he whispered into her ear, his lips hovering close to her skin for a few seconds as he breathed in his conquest.
Myka caught the same shock in her wife's voice, felt the panic across their bond and pressed a knee harder into her captive's back as she glanced up to check on the inventor. A gasp left her throat at the sight and she jumped to her feet. She met Helena's gaze and searched for understanding. How had this happened? How had they come to be at the whim of this Warehouse washout?
A tightening around Helena's eyes warned Myka that she was in danger before the man at her feet could wriggle completely free of his bonds. She wagered her wife's life against Kipling's need to showboat and bent down quickly to make sure her prisoner wouldn't move again.
"That's enough!" Kipling bellowed. His eyes took in the sight of his subdued men and rage replaced the gleaming madness of moments before. He didn't like being outnumbered and his grip tightened.
HG tried to avoid the press of metal against her throat but her fellow Victorian's outburst shook his body and she hissed as the blade bit into flesh just beneath her ear. She breathed shallowed breaths through her mouth, trying not to gag at the tainted scent, and swallowed as best she could. "What do you want, Kipling?" she murmured, trying to make her voice sound more defeated than she felt.
"Do you remember your first week at the Warehouse, Miss Wells?" he asked, his tone turning sickly sweet beneath his anger.
"Vaguely," Helena replied honestly. She frowned, searching her memory for that distant time. What did he remember that still had his knickers in a twist over a century later? "I assume that I offended you in some way."
"Your mere presence was an offense. Bad enough that they allowed a woman into our ranks, but one that cannot control her tongue?" He breathed heavily but his arm dropped slightly. "Less than a week after you first tainted that great establishment, you sought to ridicule and undermine my authority."
The inventor couldn't help but roll her eyes at that statement. She wanted to retaliate with a logical argument, but one glance at her wife's anxious features stopped her. No matter how much she wanted to antagonise him, it wasn't worth the threat to her life. What kind of artefact could have kept him alive for so long? The downside had to be the putrid smell that followed him around, but as much as the agent in her wanted to solve the mystery of his longevity, she'd never come across anything that caused these effects.
Kipling continued as if reciting a monologue, his attention drifting back and forth. "You have no sense of your place, Miss Wells and you will pay for your impudence," he threatened. He lowered his voice and pulled her close again, dousing any gathering hope she had of finding an opening to escape. "How does it feel to know that your fate is in my hands? Your deviant lover stands before you, helpless to intervene. What could I do with her once you've drawn your last breath?"
Helena struggled against the images her mind conjured but kept her body stiff. How did it feel – to know that his wounded pride had fuelled a vendetta against her that killed both her daughters (however temporarily) and stole her wife's memories of a happy family? She felt exasperation that his insecurities and dogmatic world view were being thrown at her doorstep as her failing. There was a fine line between respecting other people's sensibilities and being free to speak one's mind. Kipling was apparently the type of person who took offence if the wind blew the wrong way. That was hardly the wind's fault. Or hers.
Barely five feet away, Myka watched like a hawk and fiddled secretly with the gadget on her right hand. A gift from her wife for her birthday, it was designed with her individual skills in mind and all she really needed to use it effectively was a small window of opportunity. The situation wasn't looking too good though. Even as the disgraced agent flitted between his innumerable crazy thoughts, he didn't let his guard down for more than a few seconds at a time. It was sporadic, chaotic, and she was all about order, but there had to be something she could do because she simply couldn't watch her wife die like this!
Myka knew that Alpha Squad could do little to help even if they did manage to make their way into the house and down to the basement. Backing Kipling into a corner might be even more risky than abandoning Helena completely as he seemed to spook at the slightest hint of attack. She seethed, silently, helplessly, waiting for an opening.
Suddenly, a flash of fur broke the stalemate and Kipling flailed as sharp claws sank into the flesh of his forearm. Myka watched the knife fall from his grip and, in the blink of an eye, yanked Helena out of the way. As the inventor tumbled to the ground behind her, clutching her neck, Myka surged forward, propelled by rage. She watched their brave feline saviour fly overhead, twisting to land on all fours before disappearing back from whence he'd come, leaving the regent to tackle the hateful ex-agent.
Caught off guard, Kipling impacted the wall on the other side of the room and shock fell over his face before he realised what had happened. A cat! Really!? Fuelled by panic and desperation, he brought his prosthetic fist wide and swung it back against Myka's ribs, almost certainly bruising a few.
As a lifelong pacifist in most situations, Myka didn't condone vengeance as a form of justice, and she certainly didn't condone pain and suffering when dolling out punishment, but in this case, she was very tempted. The end to a life not her own flashed before her eyes. She imagined the scenario that Helena had explained in great, horrific detail while confessing the madness she'd felt as she tortured Christina's killers. She imagined not lifting a finger to help while watching him struggle to escape fire ants or quicksand… or both. Hadn't he subjected her little girl to a similar fate? Then he deserves it, her inner voice shouted. She thought of every medieval torture device that she'd ever read about: the saw, the rack, the knee splitter, the head crusher, the wheel, the wooden horse, and for some reason, the Judas cradle stuck in her mind – not only for the appropriate name but for the absolute agony that he would feel in being ripped apart from his anus upward. A fitting end for a man who had been more than simply a pain in everyone else's ass.
She longed to beat every last breath out of him and a boiling fury scorched her blood with the intensity of this desire, but enough of the logical, practical agent survived to keep her head cool. She had no intention of allowing him to live long enough to hurt her family again. If that meant a quick death, then so be it.
The regent's offensive was more focussed, clinical and, though her body ached, Myka saw her opening when it came. Fingers closed around her throat and Kipling raised his iron-fist again, leaving his torso vulnerable. Wasting no more time, Myka pushed a button on her glove and forced the heel of her right hand just under his ribcage. Shock appeared behind the man's eyes, his arm dropped to his side and the fingers that had wanted to strangle the life out of the American slackened, unintentionally releasing her. He coughed, spluttered and gasped for air before a trickle of blood escaped from the side of his mouth.
Myka breathed once, twice and a third time before relief finally found her. The dark chasm of hatred and malevolence that lived behind his eyes burned out, the hues shifting between pain and astonishment until nothing of substance was left. Life lived in this husk no longer and as the regent retracted her weapon, Kipling's body exploded into a shower of insignificant dust.
A brief moment passed, and then Myka swayed as her head thundered with some invisible force and she passed out.
I hope the lack of anticipated torture in Kipling's long-anticipated demise wasn't too disappointing.
Comments appreciated as always!