The Synthesis and the Animus (The Phantom of the Earth Book 3) by Raeden Zen Page B

he’d watched so many writhe and squirm on the surface of the Earth.
    The reality was that he wouldn’t find the cure in the next few hours in the desolation of the research center. He sucked in a breath of air laced with pleasing neural signals, grabbed his supply pack, and made for the exit. The Janzers deactivated the security system to let him through.
    While waiting for a transport at the Research Superstructure, he gazed at the Granville stars overhead. Scientists in colorful lab coats weaved by, lost in their equations.
    Another day, another failure , Brody thought. He swiped his thumb to the side of an intraterritory transport.
    Darkness descended.
    Gasps and screams echoed through the station.
    He heard a flick and saw flame and amethyst eyes in the dim light.
    The light disappeared, replaced by the tremor of an explosion on the other side of the Superstructure. Before Brody could access the ZPF, a hand gripped his arm. He flailed. From behind, from above, from the side, he felt as if he were trapped inside a thimble. Then he was gagging from the stench of petroleum and chemicals thrust upon him. Something rapped his skull, and his mind faded.
    He heard mumbling. At least two, maybe three or four men, or women? Brody couldn’t tell. He couldn’t see, could hardly breathe. His mouth had been gagged with something sticky, and his head was covered in some kind of hood. The fabric felt like wool. He reached out for the ZPF and failed. Then he noticed the cold touch of alloy around his neck.
    A Converse Collar.
    “Taste of your cure, Captain?” a man said.
    His voice sounded scrambled to Brody’s altered senses. He felt a jolt in his rib cage, and suddenly, engrossingly, the sensation of a million needles thrust into his flesh, curling into his muscles, plucking the veins from his body.
    Brody screamed.
    “What was that? More?”
    No, please, no , Brody thought as he understood they were using a Reassortment baton. It struck his back, sending the instructions for the synthesis of E. agony into his brain’s DNA, and he couldn’t hold back his screams. It felt as if microscopic shuriken were tugging and slicing all the pores of his body, sawing in, out, left, right, up, and down.
    Tears flowed from his eyes. He sweated beneath the sweltering hood. A knee or fist or hammer struck him, he didn’t know. He rose on his knees and fell with a thud.
    The rod dug into Brody’s armpit. His body convulsed, and he flipped on his back. Now his fingers tingled, and his eyes rapidly opened and closed, closed and opened .
    Of course , Brody thought, my death shall come at the end of the weapon my research created, my proper conversion put to use in the batons, a deserved punishment for my failures.
    He was rolled onto his back and dragged, his body tender, throbbing, stung with the stinger wedged in place.
    They dropped his legs on a cool plastic floor. The floor hummed with vibrations, movement. Brody slid left and right.
    He took a few complete breaths. He was on a transport, he realized, headed gods knew where. He reached again for the ZPF and again failed.
    The transport’s speed increased. Brody slid across the floor.
    A foot pinned him in the groin. He gasped.
    “I want you to imagine the world when humanity dominated the surface.”
    Brody heard the message as clear as Marstone, not as sinister as the other voice, but more powerful, intelligent. A woman’s voice.
    “ I want you to think about the fucks like you who dug in places they shouldn’t have .” The womanly voice.
    “Dead! Gone!” The man’s voice.
    Either a foot or a hand pounded beside his head.
    “ Not nature ,” the woman said. “ Nature cleared houses, buildings, pollution, roads, transport tubes, playgrounds, monuments —”
    “Why are you telling me this?” Brody said, but the gag and hood muffled his voice almost entirely.
    “Don’t speak! You don’t open that filthy mouth of yours unless given permission! Three hundred sixty-eight years