We arrived at our destination, the air heavy with anticipation. I stood still, surrounded by towering trees, waiting for the snipers hidden among their branches to give me the signal.
Murdock's voice crackled in my headset, filled with confidence. "All ready, flea leader."
Taking a deep breath, I prepared myself. "Here goes," I whispered, releasing the drone into the air and carefully setting the bombs in place.
The familiar cover provided by the trees reassured me. Murdock's voice interrupted my thoughts. "Give me a minute. We have company."
Muffled shots rang out, a testament to Murdock and his team's deadly accuracy. In less than 15 minutes, the roof would be secure.
Murdock's voice returned, calm and commanding, "All clear, flea leader. You are clear to proceed."
Meanwhile, I controlled the drone, maneuvering it through the yard. Damon, the leader of the destroyers, scrutinized the screen, his eyes locked on every detail.
"You are clear to go. The arena is yours," I informed him.
Adam, Damon, and the other Destroyers embarked on their mission to clear space for us. I swiftly packed the drone into my bag.
Twenty minutes later, Damon's voice echoed through the headset: "This is Destroyer One! The route is clear. You are clear to proceed." And so we began our movement.
As I raced across the yard, my senses heightened, searching for any signs of victims. Ruby and two movers ventured to the first floor, while Penn and two movers ascended to the second floor. Jegevni, Birgitta, and I ascended to the third floor, the excitement palpable in the air. I heard Ruby and Penn announce their arrival on the fourth and fifth floors through the microphone.
The sixth floor beckoned me, its dimly lit corridors filled with anticipation. As I made my determined ascent, each step echoed softly, creating a haunting melody. Methodically, I opened the doors, revealing rooms filled with patient beds and the rhythmic pulses of those within.
Speaking into the microphone, I addressed Burt, "This is the flea leader; we have live ones, so let's move."
Burt's calm and steady voice came through: "Roger that, flea leader, I'm in position."
I relayed the same message to Ruby and Penn, instructing them to proceed to the 7th and 8th floors.
Silently, I entered the patient room and focused on the first victim, a female, fae, and drugged. Removing the cannulas and shackles from each person, I returned to the first victim. My jacket pocket yielded a large empty syringe and needle, and with a determined grunt, I rolled up my sleeve. The needle found its mark in my vein, and I watched as the syringe filled with my life-giving blood.
I preferred this cleaner approach, while Penn and Ruby were equipped with epinephrine spray. With the syringe now brimming with my essence, I approached the woman and gently placed it in her mouth, releasing a few drops. I observed her eyelids flutter, a sign of awakening. I continued to administer more blood, helping her to sit up before moving on to the next victim.
Birgitta and Yevgeny assisted the victims, guiding them toward the window where the escape pipe awaited. With the sixth floor secured, I proceeded to the ninth floor, where more victims awaited their salvation.
I spoke into the microphone and addressed the Destroyers. "What's the situation? We have a lot to rescue, so this is going to take time."
Damon's voice reassured me, "We're okay. There are many enemies here, but they pose no threat to us. Stay safe, flea leader."
I acknowledged his words, urging them to continue their mission. Walking down a long, dark corridor, I opened door after door, revealing a staggering number of victims, all alive and fae.
Addressing Burt, I inquired, "What's the situation? I have at least 80 victims here, if not more."
Burt's calm response came through, "Go ahead, I'm ready."
Soon, four transporters and Ruby joined me on the floor. To prepare for any difficult or severely injured victims, I handed Ruby two full syringes of my blood. She positioned herself at one end of the corridor while I took the other, ready to bring hope and salvation to those in need.
I opened the creaking door to the first room. The musty smell of old metal and sweat filled my nostrils. As I stepped inside, the sound of clinking chains and hissing gas filled the air. Determined, I began untying the tight tubing and shackles, the cold metal biting into my fingertips.
A quick scan of the room revealed several blood-soaked bandages, a grim reminder of the injured souls in need.
I spoke into the crackling microphone, my voice echoing, "There are injured people here. We'll need blood. I'm willing to donate if necessary."
Ruby, on the other end, acknowledged, her voice filled with concern. She had noticed the same plight.
I always carried ten syringes with me, a constant reminder of the urgency of our mission. Fresh blood, I knew, would work best. With determination, I filled each syringe, feeling the cool liquid flow through my veins.
Approaching the first bed, I saw a man lying still, his body wrapped in tight bandages. I carefully inserted the syringe into his parched mouth, offering him a taste of life. As he awakened, his lips pressed against the needle, greedily drinking in my blood. His eyes, devoid of pupils, held a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of swirling colors.
He sat up, a newfound strength in his slender and tall frame, and spoke. His voice, reminiscent of Richard Chamberlain, was filled with gratitude and determination.
"I am Alistair Beauclaire. You saved my life by sharing your blood. I owe you a debt, and I am now your ally. These are treacherous grounds we tread upon. Will you accept my debt?"
Accepting his pledge, I urged him to stand and guided him towards the waiting movers. It was a common occurrence to receive allegiance from those we rescued. Over the years, I had amassed a network of allies. This was a rewarding job, but the number of people in need seemed never-ending.
Together with Ruby and Penn, we hustled to get everyone to safety. As we were about to leave the floor, the sound of approaching footsteps sent a jolt of fear down my spine. Enemies. And they were coming up the stairs. Panic set in as a door swung open, revealing their irritated voices.
I quickly sought cover and warned Ruby, "Watch out, hostiles are closing in. Where the hell did they come from?"
Ruby's voice crackled through the radio, her concern clear, "Roger that, requesting backup. Can you handle it?"
Gritting my teeth, I replied, determination fueling my words, "Yeah, I can handle it."
Time seemed to stretch as we waited for support. Eventually, Damon's tense and controlled voice came through, "Flea leader, what's the status? They must have come from inside the facility or through a secret passage."
Adrenaline surged through me as I reported, "Eight hostiles, three scientists. I can handle them."
Silence followed Damon's response. I could feel the conflict within him, torn between ensuring everybody's overall safety and the fact that enemies surrounded his wife. Our true soul mate bond amplified the weight of his decision.
I cautiously tiptoed through the dimly lit rooms, the musty scent of old books and dust filling the air. Finally, I found the perfect vantage point to take my shot. With a quick and precise aim, I eliminated one scientist. The sound of his body hitting the ground echoed in the silence. It took a moment for the guard to realize my position, confusion crossing his face, before I swiftly ended his life, too.
The onslaught of gunfire intensified, the deafening noise reverberating through the corridors. I took down another guard, his body collapsing under the weight of my bullet. The remaining guards closed in, their footsteps echoing like thunder. In one room, a terrified scientist sought refuge, hoping to escape the carnage.
Damon's voice crackled through my earpiece, his tone filled with concern. "What's the status, flea leader?"
I replied, my voice filled with determination, "Two investigators down, six guards left. Heavy fire."
Damon cursed softly, his words laced with frustration. "Hang on, flea leader. I'm on my way," he assured me.
Aware of the danger that lurked, I warned him, "Be careful. These guards are quick and accurate."
Damon acknowledged my warning. With each shot, our armor-piercing bullets pierced through their defenses, reducing their protection to mere paper.
After what seemed like an eternity, I glimpsed a guard falling to the ground. Damon had arrived, causing the remaining guards to turn and seek cover.
"Flea leader, now go. I'll take care of these," he commanded.
"Roger that, enjoy," I replied, leaving my hiding spot and making my way towards the exit.
Unbeknownst to me, one guard remained alive, lurking in the shadows. Just as I approached the door, a sudden and brutal blow struck my back, causing excruciating pain to shoot through my body. It wasn't a bullet; I couldn't discern what kind of weapon it was, but its impact was undeniable.
"Make sure you take their guns. They have new toys sometimes," I informed Damon, keeping the details of the unexpected attack to myself. Damon acknowledged my request, unaware of the pain I was enduring.
Floor by floor, we continued our rescue mission, the weight of my injuries weighing me down. But I had taken a blocker of the replicating enzyme, so there was no worry about me growing extra organs. Finally, we successfully rescued everyone with no casualties except for me. Damon and Adam had fought valiantly, their adrenaline pumping through their veins.
This facility had been heavily guarded, but this time, we emerged victorious. With the explosive charges set, we obliterated the entire place, a triumphant roar filling the air. We got valuable drugs and crucial information and left nothing but ruins in our wake. It was an overwhelming victory that left Damon and Adam still buzzing with adrenaline as we drove back to our base.
I retrieved a first aid kit and a couple of painkillers from my pocket, attempting to conceal my discomfort. Damon glanced at me, curiosity clear in his eyes, but I remained silent. We had won, and despite the looming fight club in 18 hours, I didn't mind. This feeling of triumph fueled me, which is what kept me going.
As we arrived at the base, the buzz of excitement filled the air, the news of the gig spreading like wildfire. The crowd had grown significantly, and I could sense the anticipation building. Among the bustling crowd, I caught sight of Burt, his arms laden with computers and hard drives, making his way to his workstation. The sound of murmurs and laughter filled the room as the men undressed and headed toward the showers.
I made my way to my locker, noticing that neither Damon nor Adam had returned to their gear. Damon, however, was carrying the bag towards the car. I shrugged, thinking that he could keep it if he needed it. I could always gain more later. After stashing my belongings and ensuring my guns were in top condition, I made my way to my study to grab spare clothes.
Exhausted and drenched in sweat, I knew I needed to replenish my energy. The thought of Fight Club beckoned, promising nourishment. I had given out a lot of my blood, and I would need to get some. Fight club would be full of meals, waiting for me to sink my fangs into them.
In the shower, as I stripped off my clothes, I discovered a massive, tender bruise stretching from my left side all the way down my back. Whatever weapon had been used on me had caused this painful aftermath, perhaps some kind of shockwave. I quickly washed myself clean, the water soothing against my tired muscles.
Just as I finished dressing, Damon entered the room and settled into my chair. His tone left no room for argument as he demanded, "Will you show me, or do I have to velvet you right onto the spot and send Charles to the club?"
Reluctantly, I admitted, "One guard shot me with a bloody shockwave gun. Luckily, my multiple enzyme blocker in on, but it's still incredibly sore."
Damon raised an expectant eyebrow, silently urging me to reveal the extent of my injuries. With a sigh, I removed my shirt, allowing him to assess the damage carefully.
After his examination, Damon sighed and stood up, announcing, "Alright, you need a couple of days of rest. Charles will take your place at the club since he's free. Adam will monitor you to ensure your healing progresses smoothly. Your muscles are like mush, and I suspect some of your organs may be affected as well. But I must leave now so that Adam will take over."
I nodded in understanding, cleaning my wound and reaching for a jar of painkillers. However, Damon swiftly took it from my hand, inspecting a capsule before swallowing it himself, testing its suitability for me.
After a moment of contemplation, he concluded, "These will do, but only six a day. If you need something stronger, ask Adam."
I nodded, acknowledging his instructions.
Damon's phone suddenly rang, interrupting our conversation. He informed me, "I have to go now. I won't be coming to the house. My ride is on the way, but I'll see you when our time comes." With that, he walked away, leaving me in Adam's care for the next couple of days.
While I was still in my office, meticulously arranging my belongings and diligently jotting down notes, a soft knock at the door interrupted my concentration. Burt, my loyal assistant, stood there, his presence always a comforting reassurance.
I glanced up from my laptop, expecting him to bring me some information on the computer, but he uttered, "Boss, here's the gentleman Beauclair you saved. He'd like to talk to you."
Letting out a weary sigh, I gently closed my laptop and replied, "Fine, I'm on my way. How did he find his way here?"
Burt merely shrugged his shoulders, leaving me to wonder as I trailed after him. Curiosity piqued, I made my way to the coffee room where the mysterious Fae awaited.
As I approached him, he solemnly repeated his oath of allegiance and handed me a slip of paper with his contact number inscribed with a neat, elegant script. Gratitude filled his eyes as I spoke. I tried to reassure him that his contact details would be safe with me. "Thank you. I know we can use you. You can be sure I won't give your number to anyone else."
A genuine smile graced his lips as he spoke. "You gave me your blood. We have a blood bond, and I noticed you have fae energy. I owe you my life, as do many others. You gave your blood to save us; it is a great honor for us, fae. Now, we are yours."
Moved by his words, I nodded in appreciation.
"I heard you got the energy fae to change into another form to save you," he continued. "Now I know at all why they did it. Those facilities are so bad I have never come across anything like it. We had the resources but did not know how dire the situation had become. However, we have not intervened unless attacked. But it is now clear that we are also being targeted, and we have reason to act."
"Yes," I replied, my voice tinged with sadness. "People can be capable of such atrocities. There are those among us who are morally bankrupt, and their ambitions and cruelty stain the entire field. It takes just a few rotten apples to spoil the whole batch. But we are trying to help. So, if you hear even a rumor about these facilities, please get in touch."
Beauclair nodded solemnly, his eyes reflecting a deep understanding.
"Come to my office," I offered, wanting to shed light on the scale of the problem we faced. "I'll show you a bit of the magnitude we're dealing with. And this law, The Human Act, will not provide any protection for supernaturals. We are considered animals."
Furrowing his brow, Beauclair expressed his disbelief. "But you are human, another species. Not animals. What a twisted way of thinking that is, to define humanity by DNA." I nodded in agreement, grateful for his empathy, and led him towards my office.
We sat in a dimly lit room, the soft hum of conversation filling the air. I pulled out a stack of diagrams showcasing the intricate webs of pharmaceutical companies. As I showed him, the pages rustled under my fingertips.
He leaned in, his eyes scanning the diagrams with intensity. The faint scent of coffee wafted from the nearby table.
Determination flickered in his eyes as he spoke, his voice filled with conviction. "That law needs to be changed. These institutions must be exposed to the world. We need to reveal their secrets, making it impossible for them to hide again. We must give the victims a voice and gather undeniable evidence that can't be ignored."
I nodded in agreement, my mind already contemplating the possibilities. But for now, I knew we had to focus on the immediate rescue mission. The press couldn't be involved just yet. It was too risky.
"It's a great idea, but we'll have to wait for the right moment. We need to find a secure facility with victims and expose the brutal experiments. Only then, with irrefutable evidence, can we approach high-ranking officials to share our story?"
He nodded solemnly, promising to rally support and spread awareness. He mentioned that once the fae were back on their feet, they would join us in our endeavors, eager to learn and contribute. With a sense of purpose, I left, making my way back to the house, where Adam's protective presence awaited.
As we entered the house, the comforting scent of home enveloped us. Samuel stood there, his presence reassuring. Apparently, Salvatore had informed him about me, and I found myself in the medbay, surrounded by the sterile smell of disinfectant. Under anesthesia, I drifted into unconsciousness, trusting Samuel and Adam to operate and aid my recovery.
When I finally woke up three days later, the soft glow of sunlight streamed through the window, warming my skin. I breathed in deeply, savoring the familiar scent of freshly laundered sheets. Free from the weight of the clubs, Adam and I found solace in each other's embrace, in the safety of our bedroom.