Magic Bullet

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Ch. 3: This can't be happening…Pt.1

Bella POV

I bolted out of the classroom as fast as possible and still seem human, and headed for the forest behind the school. My mind raced and it took every ounce of willpower to stop the shaking and get my breathing under control until I was away from prying eyes. If you didn't count that moron, Edward, then everything had gone so well, until class started. This can't be happening. What else could go wrong?

The trees closed around me and I felt everything that I had so far held at bay crash down upon me. I fell to the ground as the memories of the past consumed me.

Vienna, Austria: September 13, 1914

The coughing fit lasted for fifteen minutes and blood left a crimson stain on my handkerchief. Papa looked at me and I could see that concern had left permanent scars on his face. The consumption that had killed my mother had finally progressed too far. This would be my last birthday and instead of being allowed to rest in comfort at home in London, Papa dragged me all the way here to visit some Alchemist that promised him a magical cure.

We were ushered into a modest home on the outskirts of the city. The Alchemist was dressed in a lab smock and directed us down into the basement. Everything about him screamed insanity; all I wanted to do was go back to the hotel and leave this unholy place. Papa was desperate to save me. When we lost mother, it almost killed him. I knew that if I died, that he would follow soon after. This was his last desperate act, before I faded into the Long Night.

The basement laboratory was cluttered and dirty. Moans drew my attention to the far wall. A red eyed man was chained to the wall, his chains sparked with electricity. In a cage in the corner was a half starved dark-skinned girl. Every fiber of my being screamed that this was wrong. How could Papa suffer such barbarous behavior?

"Herr Treager, where is the cure that you telegraphed me about," Papa demanded. Years of having watched mother and I fade before his eyes while he could do nothing but lament had turned his once rich baritone voice into a hollow echo.

The Austrian, Treager, looked at Papa with an appraising glance. He gestured to a small cart next to an examination table. Along with the usual array of surgical tools was a syringe filled with an inky fluid. "Behold, Mein Herr, the Fire of Prometheus. The only substance known to Science or Sorcery that can cure your daughter; once I have payment, it is yours," he replied crisply.

I watched, astonished, as Papa handed the other man a billfold overstuffed with money. Before Treager had taken it, the man chained to the wall went wild and struggled against his chains. His once red eyes were now obsidian and filled with some unholy hunger. There was an explosion from the generator attached to the chains. I felt a searing pain when something pierced my back. Smoke filled the room and fire spread rapidly.

Papa jabbed the syringe into my chest then pushed me toward the stairs. He stepped in front of the man that had broken out of his chains. The stranger fell upon him. Papa told me to run. I stumbled up the stairs; Treager's maid caught me at the top. She dragged me from the house. The screams of those trapped inside were the last thing I heard before fainting.

I awoke three days later in a hospital bed. My father's friend and Cabal member, Harry was there. He told me that the doctors pulled a good sized piece of metal from my back. With the amount of blood loss, they had not expected me to survive. Harry had kept them from changing my bandages, opting to do it himself. This had prevented anyone from finding that my wound had completely healed. Not even a scar remained.

The two of us knew that I had somehow been changed. I no longer felt weak; in fact I had stopped coughing up blood. According to the doctor, my lungs sounded fine and I was perfectly healthy. My consumption was healed. It wouldn't be long before we found out how much I had been changed.

The Battle of the Somme, July 1, 1916

"Hurry up, Reggie, the Offensive is about to start," Cpl. Hicks called back to me as we lined up with our unit and awaited the attack order.

Harry had taken me back to London after the disaster in Vienna. He left me in the capable hands of other members of the Cabal. There had been whispers of war for months, and both the British and American Governments recruited Harry to gather information while he toured Europe. The Cabal kept me safe, especially after the full effects of the Fire of Prometheus took hold of me.

I had yet to learn to control the rage and bloodlust; when the war finally broke out; I disguised myself as a man and enlisted in the Army as Reginald Sinclair. My Cabal handlers were scandalized at first but decided that I would serve better on the frontline than by using the training Papa gave me as a nurse. The Captain in charge of my Regiment was under orders to keep on eye on me.

The flare went up, the attack commenced. We rushed the German line but they were well entrenched. Bullets riddled my body and I fell to the ground, dead. I was one of the over 70,000 British Soldiers that died that day. The Captain survived, he found me and dragged my body to safety and removed the bullets. The wounds healed and my heart started beating again. I was back in London twenty-four hours later.

Paris, France, April 2, 1917

I landed my Sopwith Camel, along with the rest of the Squadron, at an airfield just outside the city. The others looked forward to a couple of days of Liberty. I made my way to the Headquarters tent for this staging area to report in.

"Captain Duncan Newkirk, reporting as ordered," I said to the Major sitting at the desk.

Two months later

We were on our way back to base after a successful bombing raid. Twenty kilometers from home we were ambushed by a Hun patrol that came at us from out of the sun. Kilgrave and Daniels were shot down before we knew what hit us. Without thought, my boys broke formation and did what they were best at; dogfighting. These bloody bastards had no idea what they were in for.

I banked high right and fell in behind the Hun on Taggart's tail. My finger squeezed the trigger and the Lewis gun let out an angry burst that made quick work of the enemy plane. In the next ten minutes I had shot down two more fighters, for a total of three confirmed kills for this little engagement. That brought my total up to fifteen kills. The Squad had taken to calling me the "Black Cat" because I brought bad luck to any enemy unfortunate enough to cross my path.

The new kid, Marshall, was having a tough time with his engagement. He started to panic and fire wildly. The Hun pilot dove in my direction and Marshall kept up the wild fire. I tried to bank out of the way, but I was too late. His bullets hit my engine and I was engulfed in a fireball. Cabal agents retrieved my body that night; back to London for me.

The Frontline, December 1917

As Sergeant Maxwell Cooper, I found myself once more in the trenches. If I had my druthers, I would have started this new life as a pilot again. Unfortunately for me, the Cabal heard a rumor that the Huns had unleashed a werewolf on the frontline. Since most of the information they had about such things was false, I was sent in to gather as much intelligence as I could.

On my way to the canteen, we were hit with a Mustard Gas attack. My lungs burned, it felt as if I were being flayed alive. I woke up in a mass grave and made my way back to home.

My eyes fluttered open as the assault of memories ended. I estimated that it had been an hour since the flashbacks started. I brushed myself off, then headed back to school. All I wanted to do was go home and not have to deal with the inane teenage drama or hormones.