Monster Hunter Nemesis Page 2

  Looking back, Franks realized that the demon was so scared of being captured by him that it was actually gnawing through its own arm in an attempt to escape. Franks moved quickly. He found a long pole with a hook on the end and used that to reach up and shove one of the spotlights out of alignment, temporarily blinding the cultists shooting at him. Then he speared an old man through the guts with the pole, clotheslined another cultist hard enough to kill him instantly, and got back to his prisoner just as the demon finished chewing its arm off.

  It began scrambling away, but he easily caught it. “You can’t do this, Franks! You’re a traitor to the host. You’ll pay for this!” it shrieked as he dragged it back to where he pinned it the first time.

  The demon scratched and bit at him, annoying Franks. When he reached the ceremonial dagger, he tugged it from the wood. The severed claw slid off the end of the steel. He forced the demon’s head against the deck and stabbed it through the face, pinning it just as hard as before. It squealed and thrashed, but at least it couldn’t talk anymore. The stupid imp wouldn’t be chewing its way out of that.

  Franks went back to killing cultists. Some of the fools were trying to communicate with the leviathan but it took a human years of effort to master the original tongue, and their demon translator was occupied. The old language was very difficult for the mortal mind to comprehend it, let alone speak well, but one cultist, apparently their leader, was giving it his best effort. He had spread his arms wide and was screaming up at the creature. “Great Sleeper of the Depths, forgive us as we trouble your rest. Humbly we request our enemies gone by devouring!”

  A tree-sized tentacle paused over their boat, and fifty eyes opened up along its length to study the cultist in his wind-whipped robes. Franks found another gun and angled for a shot on the cult leader. He had to admit he was impressed; for a mortal the cultist was doing really well, up until the part where he screwed it up. “Our lives are food for you!”

  The leviathan was happy to oblige. Thousands of spines erupted from the tentacle as it descended. Cultists screamed as they were pierced, encircled, and lifted into the air to be shoved into giant pulsing mouths.

  Primary objective completed. The monster wasn’t going to fling itself at the civilian population now, but Franks still needed to secure his prisoner for interrogation before the leviathan sank the fishing boat. A female hybrid attacked him, fish eyes bulging beneath her cowl, fat frog lips smacking as she tried to bite him in the face. Franks merely kicked her in the stomach, launching her back, and before she hit the deck, a tentacle snatched her up, lifted her to one of the monster’s snapping beaks, and popped the hybrid in to be chewed.

  Tentacles were striking everywhere. The monster could have simply crushed the boat, but it seemed to be enjoying the snacks first. But the boat was nearly depopulated. Franks did not want to be chewed, nor did he want to spend the time sawing his way out of a giant monster’s guts. It was time for extraction.

  There was a white flash far beneath the surface. An explosion rocked the fishing boat. The leviathan screamed in frequencies that deafened whales. Either Franks’ message had gotten through or the captain of the attack submarine had seen the giant monster on his sonar screen and made the call himself. A circle of water a hundred yards across erupted upward as the second torpedo hit the leviathan.

  A black, glistening bulk the size of a three-story building hit the fishing boat, and the vessel went sideways. The few remaining cultists were hurled into the sea. Franks fell, but caught himself on some machinery. Then, annoyed by this turn of events, began crawling toward his prisoner, who was dangling by its face over the churning water. “Bravo Team, this is Franks. Look for me in the wreckage.”

  The boat righted temporarily, but its back was broken, and they were sinking fast. Franks reached the demon, and pulled the dagger free. It sprung up and clawed at him, but Franks blocked the arm and slugged the demon in its punctured mouth, sending it crashing back down. He loomed over it. “Who sent you?”

  “Traitor,” the demon gasped. “You’re a traitor to the host.”

  Franks kicked the imp in the face. Fat droplets of glowing blood flew up into the rain. Even animated bodies felt pain, but considering the imp had just gnawed its own arm off in an attempt to escape it had a respectable pain threshold. Torture would take too long. The boat was going down. Explosions were ripping through the ocean as more torpedoes struck the thrashing monster. There was no time for games. “Talk or I’ll send you back to Hell.” It would take a thousand years for a shit stain like this to find its way back out of the void.

  “Please, no,” it hissed. Franks didn’t answer, but the demon looked him in the eyes, saw what was waiting there, then experienced an involuntary shiver. “Fine, fine.” It dipped its remaining hand into the puddle of glowing blood, and with one claw drew a complicated symbol on the wood. The demon didn’t need to explain. They both knew exactly who that stood for.

  Franks scowled at the design. Another related event . . . Already the rain was washing the mark away, but it was unmistakable. This would be going in his report. His superiors wouldn’t be happy.

  One of the smaller tentacles approached, bristling with eyes and thorns, looking for one last snack before it fled back to the deep. Franks looked up nonchalantly, saw the massive blob of flesh, and immediately slugged one big fist into a soft eyeball. Pus squirted out and the tentacle retreated.

  “That’s right, Franks. All those years buried deep, but he’s awake, and he’s gathering his army. The end is beginning, and you picked the wrong side, brother. Don’t leave me out here. I can help you. Let me go and I’ll tell you everything I know.”

  Never trust a demon. The fishing vessel was listing badly, but it looked like the main body of the leviathan was coming back around to swallow them whole. Franks took the demon’s other hand, shoved it against the deck, and slammed the dagger through its palm. The imp screamed. “Chew fast.” Franks began walking away.

  “Wait. I’ve got more information! I’ve got something you’re going to want to hear. Let me go,” the demon begged. Franks got to the edge. A fifty-foot tentacle swept by and tore the wheelhouse completely off the boat. The mouth that was lifting out of the sea now was big enough to engulf the whole boat. It was time to go for a swim. “This is personal, Franks! Your old enemy has found a way back to Earth.”

  Franks paused. He looked back at the imp. “Who?”

  “Kurst!”

  It was not often that something shook Franks. He started back toward the demon.

  “He’s found a new body that can hold him. He’ll be coming for you. Let me go and I’ll—”

  This tentacle was as big around as a bus, and when it landed on the fishing boat, everything simply came apart. They were being lifted by the ancient beast as torpedoes exploded beneath them. Franks stumbled across the splintering beams, but the imp was gone. A row of suckers had slurped the demon’s remains off the deck, leaving nothing but a mass of hamburger and bubbling acid.

  Kurst . . . Either the imp has been toying with him out of spite, or that was very bad news.

  Franks snarled in frustration and leapt over the side. The ocean rushed up to meet him.

  * * *

  “No, Agent Franks, I said to start at the beginning.”

  Franks folded his gigantic arms. His broad shoulders seemed to fill the small room. “No.”

  Normally people would shrink before Franks’ withering gaze, but the interrogator didn’t so much as flinch. “That’s not a request. It’s in our vital interest to know the whole story. Everything’s on the table now or we’re done here. I don’t think you realize the mess you’ve made. This is your last chance. He needs to decide which side you’re really on.”

  The whole story had never been told. Franks didn’t even know if he could.

  “Well? What’s it going to be? I know your usual answer would be classified, but that really doesn’t apply here now, does it?”

  “I’m not much for ta
lking.”

  “Then it sounds like I’m in for a treat, because if you don’t tell me your whole life story right now then the deal is off.”

  Franks exhaled. “Take notes. I don’t like to repeat myself.”

  CHAPTER 2

  Testimony of the entity known as Franks, former Special Agent of the United States Monster Control Bureau.

  * * *

  Interrogator’s note: All of my questions, and the awkward periods of silence and angry glaring from the subject, have been omitted for the sake of brevity. I have never, in all my years, encountered anyone or anything this surly and menacing. Franks is completely incapable of mercy or kindness. As this process went on he began to open up, granting me a good look into his thought processes. I know that it isn’t my decision to make, but in my professional opinion I would find the deepest hole possible and bury Franks in it.

  * * *

  BEGIN TRANSCRIPT

  Where do you want me to start? My contract? I kept my word. It was the government that broke Benjamin Franklin’s contract. Stricken shouldn’t have crossed me.

  Earlier than that . . .

  The first words I ever heard in my mortal life were “It’s alive. It’s alive.” Is that what you want?

  Before that even . . . Hmmm . . . Normally I’d kill you for asking.

  You want the real beginning, but it’s hard to remember and harder to explain.

  Buckle up. This is about to get weird.

  Aftermath of the Level 5 ICMHP Incident

  12 Days Ago

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  The man’s ID badge read “Foster.” The command tent was full of people called Agent, but his title was simply Mister. Despite that, he was the one in de facto command. Franks really wanted to kill him, but that would only complicate matters. Foster was from Special Task Force Unicorn, one of Stricken’s handpicked human lackeys rather than one of their monstrous foot soldiers, and was thus worthy of having his neck snapped, but since Franks had been placed in chains and surrounded by guards prepared to shoot him down at the smallest provocation, Foster’s death would have to wait.

  “If Franks so much as twitches, kill him,” Foster ordered.

  The assembled MCB agents were following orders, but they were obviously uncomfortable with it. Several blocks of Las Vegas were in smoking ruins around them. The situation had descended into complete chaos. The chain of command was broken. There were hundreds of eyewitnesses. Rather than being allowed to fulfill their primary mission of trying to keep the existence of monsters and supernatural threats concealed from the general public, these MCB agents had been tasked with securing the most legendary operative in their organization’s history as if he were some sort of traitor.

  One of the men voiced his concern. “I don’t think this is necessary. Franks cooperated fully with your arrest order, Mr. Foster.”

  It was true. There would have been no point in resisting, so he’d allowed the arriving reinforcements to secure him until their superiors arrived. Franks had very little faith in the wisdom of mankind, but he trusted Dwayne Myers. Myers would sort this out.

  “Don’t give me any lip.” Foster was pacing nervously and checking his phone, waiting for some word from his mysterious supervisor. “You’re going down for this, Franks, you’re going down hard.”

  An hour ago Franks had been swatted across the Strip by a dragon made of ectoplasm and nightmares. Bureaucratic plotting seemed inconsequential in comparison.

  There was a commotion on the other side of the tent flap. Guards gave challenges, IDs were presented, and then there was a rush of apologies. The flap opened and several men entered the giant command tent. The first through were members of the MCB’s elite mobile strike team. They were hardened warriors Franks had served with many times, and behind them was an innocuous-looking, middle-aged man in a cheap suit.

  Franks’ arms were chained to the chair, so he dipped his head slightly. “Sir.”

  “Why is my second-in-command tied up?” demanded Dwayne Myers, the Special Agent-in-Charge of Strike Team. “What’s the meaning of this?”

  Foster’s response was about as belligerent as could be expected. “Agent Franks is charged with disobeying direct orders, violating security protocols by taking a civilian witness into a monster containment area, and then breaking into the Nevada storage facility to steal seized evidence.”

  “Is that true?” Myers asked.

  Franks nodded. That sounded about right, but Myers already knew most of the details, since it had secretly been his idea to begin with. Franks had taken Owen Pitt to Dugway because he’d thought the Monster Hunter’s psychic powers could help their investigation. He’d taken three ancient arcane weapons from Area 51 in order to fight the Nachtmar: Lord Machado’s ax, the Attilius gladius, and the Black Heart of Suffering. That last one had done the trick, and destroyed the creature.

  “When he was confronted about his actions, Franks attempted to kill MCB Director Douglas Stark.”

  Franks snorted. The five men covering him with drawn weapons backed away nervously. They were only following orders, but all of them had worked with Franks at some point, so they were aware that shooting Franks might upset him.

  “I’ve known Agent Franks for twenty years. He doesn’t attempt to kill anyone. Holster those sidearms and unchain him. Franks is coming with me.” Myers had recently been demoted, but had been the Acting Director before that, and he was still probably the most respected senior agent in the Bureau.

  “Hold on,” Foster demanded. “Franks is in STFU custody.” It was almost like Foster thought that invoking the name of the ultra-secret Special Task Force Unicorn would strike fear into the federal agent’s heart.

  Myers glanced around theatrically. “Really? Because these appear to be MCB men, and last I checked, sworn MCB agents don’t take orders from an operation that doesn’t exist.” The MCB didn’t officially exist either, as it was just a line item on the Department of Homeland Security’s budget, but in this business there were levels of not existing.

  “Director Stark is—”

  “Hiding from this giant clusterfuck caused by his lack of leadership,” Myers said. “Our good Director must have forgotten that it is against regulation seventy-two dash B to turn MCB handling of a level five containment to another entity, such as yours, without authorization from the President. So in the meantime I’m the highest ranking member of the MCB available, and I’m making the call. Cut Franks loose. I’m going back outside to try to contain the unholy mess you amateurs made out of one of America’s most popular tourist attractions, before every news agency in the world records video of a street full of ectoplasm and dragon parts. Is that understood, Mr. Foster?”

  It was clearly understood, but not particularly liked. “We’re not done, Myers.”

  “Oh, I believe that we are.” Myers glanced over and confirmed that the men had put their weapons away. “Remove Mr. Foster from my command tent.”

  “I’ve got it,” Franks said. One of the men had been looking for the key to the padlock, but Franks simply took up the chain in his bare hands and twisted until a link snapped. By the time anyone realized what was happening, the chains had already hit the floor and Franks had caught Foster by the arm and effortlessly lifted him off the ground. Foster winced in pain as Franks carried him to the nearest flap, and hurled the Unicorn operative into the street.

  Foster hit hard and skidded across the pavement, right into a pile of ectoplasm that had been blown off the nightmare dragon. He came up, indignant and sputtering, covered in the glowing sludge. “Stricken will hear about this!”

  “Run away, little man,” Franks advised as he dropped the tent flap and returned to Myers. “You should have just had me kill him.”

  “He’s but an insignificant cog in a big dangerous machine.” Myers was wearing a charcoal suit rather than his armor, but as far as most of the MCB were aware, that was because he had barely arrived on the scene. In truth, Myers had been here the whole
time, secretly trying to stop the Nachtmar as fast as possible, and head off Stricken’s power-grabbing schemes. “We’ve got our work cut out for us as it is. Agent Jefferson has handled the PR surprisingly well so far, but if we fail to move quickly this event could prove to be the worst breach in MCB history.”

  Myers gave a quick series of orders to the waiting agents, about coordinating with the military and local law enforcement, making sure that the given cover stories were consistent, sending out plainclothes agents as witnesses to speak to the media, cleaning up anything that looked paranormal, and placing fake evidence to back up their cover stories. “Martinez, gather up some actors and go give the news some firsthand accounts of this terrorist attack. Nothing too detailed yet though. Remember, good and emotional. They’ll always run with tears and babbling. Barber, contact Technical Branch. Anything floating around the internet, crash it. As big as that dragon was there’s got to be video and I want it scrubbed. Pick the worst virus we have and turn it loose.”

  It was like watching a symphony conductor.

  “Tobler, where’s my body count? How many corpses are we talking about? And how many wounded?” Myers paused when he was handed a tablet. He quickly scanned it and then swore at the rather large tally. “We’ve got a lot of eyewitness duty on this one . . .”

  The men groaned as Myers began handing out more assignments. Intimidating the witnesses into silence was the duty that most agents dreaded. Franks didn’t really grasp why. It was simply another part of their mission. The Monster Control Bureau’s primary responsibility was to keep the existence of monsters secret from the general public. That was their founding principle. It was necessary, but most agents didn’t like threatening innocent monster attack survivors. Humans were soft like that.