Created by SHEPHERD AKARA ©
Founder of SKYBREED ENT ©
"Faster, Doctor!" she screamed as she raced through the dimly lit corridors, their footsteps echoing with a frantic urgency.
Doctor Onyx Demonté, though barely seventeen, was already a prodigy in the realm of science.
A nuclear physicist, she held the distinction of being the youngest mind in the Western League of superlabs.
Leading a team of brilliant minds to study the enigmatic celestial orb known as the Xeno-Nexus had been her charge when calamity had suddenly descended upon them.
The nefarious mastermind of science, Doctor Dimitrov, had infiltrated their high-security facility, evading advanced security systems and biometric scanners.
He unleashed a legion of destruction, reducing the fortress to ruins, with his merciless army leaving nothing but devastation in their wake.
It was Doctor Onyx who managed to abscond with the Xeno-Nexus, encased in an impenetrable shell.
She had attempted to flee, but her resolve couldn't match the relentless pursuit of the mad doctor.
His henchmen, clad in sinister armor as dark as the night, their helmets gleaming silver, and their talons dripping with the stain of blood, captured any survivors and vanished into the night in their malevolent hovering crafts.
For six harrowing days, she remained their captive, her indomitable spirit refusing to yield.
Ever hopeful, ever vigilant, ever observant. She exploited the slightest distractions and made her escape when the opportunity arose.
With her faithful secretary, Dr. Lang, a modest yet brilliant quantum physicist, she continued to run, their lungs burning with the thirst for air.
But against their will, their weary feet faltered.
"Dr. Onyx, there's nowhere left to hide," Lang gasped, his voice filled with desperation.
"Then we keep running!" She displayed astonishing strength as she yanked open a manhole cover and plunged beneath the surface, with Dr. Lang following suit.
The pair hurried through the noxious sewers, their once-pristine lab coats now stained with filth and slime.
Their destination remained uncertain, but their determination remained unwavering.
Suddenly, a brilliant light flooded the grimy scene, and a familiar voice reverberated through the tunnels.
"И куда, по-твоему, ты идешь?" came the chilling inquiry.
"And just where do you think you're going?"
Doctor Dimitrov's black leather boots remained unstained, even amidst the muck, his long coat sweeping the dirt aside as he clasped his gloved hands.
Ginger-haired and with lemon-like eyes, he exuded an air of malevolent intelligence.
"Да? Ты как раз вовремя на представление," he continued, his words dripping with sinister delight.
"Yes? You're just in time for the show," he said, his demeanor disturbingly cheerful.
Onyx's heart pounded, she turned to her confidante, Dr. Lang, whose Polish heritage was evident in his trembling form.
Dimitrov took measured steps, drawing nearer to his captives.
"Ваша красота действительно соперничает с вашим умом, мадам Демонте. Скажи мне, у королев красоты течет кровь?" he mused, his voice tinged with a sinister elegance.
"Your beauty does indeed rival your wits, Madame Demonté. Tell me, do beauty queens bleed?" he inquired, his tone chillingly casual.
"Ты никогда не выиграешь," Onyx retorted with unwavering bravery.
"You will never win."
The military scientist squinted at the young nuclear physicist, her radiant beauty a stark contrast to the grim surroundings.
A product of diverse heritage, born in the deserts of Arizona, Onyx was the offspring of a tanned Puerto Rican astronaut and an Asian chemist.
Her complexion bore harmonious tones, and her hazelnut eyes gleamed with intelligence.
Thick, frizzy hair cascaded down her waist, a testament to her unique allure, complemented by her curvaceous figure and strong thighs.
Javan Dimitrov, captivated, gently held her frowning face in his hand.
"О, дорогой, дорогой, я уже выиграл," he murmured, his breath carrying the scent of plums.
"Oh, dear, dear, I have already won," he whispered, his words laced with sinister satisfaction.
"Ксено-Нексус теперь в моем распоряжении. У меня есть сила звезд, чтобы командовать," he boasted, his tone dripping with malevolence.
"The Xeno-nexus is in my possession now. I have the power of the stars to command," he declared with chilling authority.
"The least you could do is dishonor me in the language of the liberators. Yes, I know you're fluent in English," Onyx retorted, her words laced with sarcasm.
"Indeed!" Javan replied, his British accent flawless. "You mesmerize me, Madame Demonté."
"It's Doctor!" she corrected with a yelp.
"Aren't we all?" Javan's response carried a darkness that sent shivers down her spine.
"Let her go!" Dr. Lang interjected, his voice quivering with anxiety.
Dimitrov shifted his gaze to the frantic Polish scientist and, with a sick twisted smile, released Onyx. His malevolent gaze tormented Dr. Lang.
"Ah, you? What do you call yourself?" Javan inquired with a hint of amusement, toying with his gloves.
"I'm listening," he taunted, his voice oozing cruelty.
Dr. Lang's muffled pleas signaled his impending doom.
"Does the woman speak for you? A brilliant mind masked by feminism," Javan sneered, his derisive tone emphasizing the gender-based condescension.
"Overwhelming discoveries, unraveled by the brilliant Madame Demonté, only to be exploited by plagiarists who stoop low to share the glory of the weaker gender."
The mad scientist chuckled in his deranged state before sharing a disturbing anecdote.
"My daughter," he began, his voice softening momentarily. "Once, I bought her a toy. The joy that filled her soul, the satisfaction that floods the heart of a parent, it is beyond measure.
But when it broke, her spirit was crushed. The broken toy... I had to fix it to restore her joy, to renew mine."
He paused dramatically before turning his attention to Dr. Lang, who was trembling in fear. "Dr. Lang! Are you Madame Demonté's broken toy?"
With a snap of his fingers, one of Dimitrov's henchmen seized Dr. Lang with a cruel pincer. The gruesome sound of the pinky finger being severed filled the fetid air.
Dr. Lang's agonized screams echoed through the tunnels.
"Please, shut him up," Javan muttered in dissatisfaction, and another armed assailant approached the wailing doctor, his arm now drenched in blood.
"Please, please!" Onyx begged amid the horrific cries of her secretary.
"Indeed, she is your mouthpiece," Javan Dimitrov mocked.
"What is it you want? she cried. "Name your price, anything... just let him go,"
Javan's chuckle reverberated through the dimly lit sewers, his mood inexplicably brightened by the suffering before him.
Onyx's words had the curious effect of drawing a smile onto his face.
"What use would you be to me, indeed? Yes, I find your beauty enthralling, but... I already possess a thousand pretty faces to indulge my secret desires," he mused, his voice laced with a sinister elegance.
"I could mend a particle accelerator, construct doomsday contraptions, and even assist in manipulating the Xeno-Nexus," she abruptly interjected, her gaze locked with his.
The shock that rippled across the infamous mad scientist's countenance was palpable.
"You could," he croaked, closing the distance between them with measured steps, their eyes locked in an intense standoff.
"But would you?"
Javan posed the question, his words laden with the gravity of fiendishness.
"I am fully aware of your capabilities, the irresistible power of your intellect. I have been tracking you for quite some time..."
He paused, the corners of his lips curving into a dark grin, as his voice dropped into a sinister cadence. "And so, I am aware of your... condition."
"What do you mean?" she inquired, worry etching her features.
"Oh, dear, Demonté. I am acutely aware of your health challenges," he continued, his tone filled with a chilling familiarity. "I have observed the way you contort in agony after long hours of research.
I took the liberty of satisfying my curiosity by diagnosing your... let's call it infirmity. I know of your rare cancer."
The chill of astonishment coursed through the young nuclear scientist, leaving her momentarily speechless.
"Yes, Madame, let's entertain the notion of a deal, shall we?" Javan's voice assumed a diabolical timbre, reminiscent of a devil's whisper. "An offer you cannot possibly refuse. I... can alleviate your infirmities. I can relieve you of your pain."
"It's... it's impossible," Onyx stammered, her senses overwhelmed by his audacious proposition. "There is no cure."
"You underestimate the strength of my resolve, young one. I can take it all away, bestow upon you the contented life you so desire." His hand extended toward her, a silent invitation.
"Trust... a small word with profound implications," he intoned.
Onyx turned to her trembling confidante, Dr. Lang, her countenance heavy with the weight of her impending decision.
"I'm sorry, Dr. Lang," she whispered, before placing her delicate hand into the reddened palm of Javan Dimitrov.
"Guards, finish him off!" Javan's command sliced through the stale air, and a cry of desperation escaped the young Demonté.
The eerie chortles of the twisted dark scientist reverberated through the damp, echoing tunnels of the sewers.
Javan walked Onyx to his billion-dollar yacht.