The Defiled

By sean deville

The Book of Revelation warned humanity of Seven Plagues that would destroy the human race. It foretold the coming apocalypse that would one day descend upon the Earth.

The only surviving victim of a terrorist outrage, Professor Charles Grader lies helpless, comatose to the world around him. And yet his mind does not rest. Unable to scream, unable to flee, he sleeps, trapped in his own mind and can only endure the horrific end of the world visions that haunt his every moment.

Then one day his eyes open and he finds himself broken, wasted and alone. The world has moved on, and in the three years of his coma, Grader has been all but forgotten. Or so it seems. Virtually bedridden in his hospital room, he is visited in the dead of night by a woman called Valentina, a deadly and mysterious stranger who tells Grader a truth that threatens to shatter whatever is left of his sanity. He is one of the "Chosen", one of the few who is to be offered a chance to escape the fate that is about to befall the whole of mankind.

For the Seven Plagues are not coming, they are already here…and only Valentina can offer him any kind of salvation.

Who will live and who will die as the Seven Plagues are unleashed upon an unsuspecting Earth?

• Language: English
• Publisher: sean deville
• Release date: Jan 8, 2018
• ISBN: 9781393837930

Book preview

Ref: FGu55432ph

Top Secret

The Civil Contingencies Committee Command Structure Platinum

Eyes Only

WARNING

Unauthorised reproduction/viewing/ distribution of this document will result in prosecution under the Treason Act 1695 and may carry a penalty of Life Imprisonment under the Crime and Disorder Act 1998

Confidential report on Project C43351-6 codename VERITAS

Confidential Report on Project Veritas

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Date 27.08.18

Initial tests have confirmed the viability of the biometric microchip produced by the Apollyon Incorporated Company under DOD contract - codename Veritas.  Researchers and freelancers working for GCHQ have been unable to hack the revolutionary encryption contained within the chip.  They have deemed the encryption unbreakable using existing technology.  The applications will be far reaching, and initial roll-out should be implemented straight away.  Due to its superior biometric security, implementing the microchip for the outlined purposes should be phased as follows:

Phase 1

1)  Security at all level 4 and above government facilities.  This should replace the standard swipe card and enhance the security of the present retinal scans

2)  Implantation nationwide on anyone claiming government benefits/assistance

3)  Implantation into anyone receiving asylum

4)  Implantation into anyone convicted of a criminal offence

5)  Voluntary implantation for anyone in the wider population

Phase 2

1)  Implantation into all serving police officers

2)  Implantation into all staff working at transport hubs

3)  Implantation into anyone taking up government contract

4)  Implantation into anyone in the armed forces

We anticipate considerable resistance to widespread implementation, so phase 3 will be on hold until such time as fate delivers the perfect opportunity.  Our liaisons with the country’s press have already agreed to push the benefits of the microchip.  Dissenting voices will not be allowed a platform to voice their concerns.

Phase 3

1)  Implantation into all children receiving Public Schooling

2)  Implantation into all NHS staff

3)  Implantation into anyone in government employment

4)  Implantation into anyone working in the security services

We do not feel a mandatory population-wide implantation process will be accepted at present.  We also do not at this stage recommend implantation into Members of Parliament or Members of the House of Lords or higher levels of the Civil Service. 

As all but one of the G20 nations have agreed to implement this biometric security process, it will, within 5 years, become difficult for those without the microchip to function in modern society.  As already stated, the Veritas chip is planned to replace

1)  All government security passes

2)  All bank cards and credit cards

3)  All photo ID’s

4)  Cash

The integrated biometric network is already being rolled out across the country.  We anticipate the country will have 100% functionality of the system within 5 years.

Sir Arthur Stuart OBE, PhD, BMedSci, FRCPS, BM

Emeritus Professor, University College Hospitals London

Chief Operating officer, The Medicines & healthcare products Regulatory Agency

CEO Apollyon incorporated UK

Prologue

17.09.18

Cambridge, England

Nobody expected the Oceans to bleed.  He ran through a forest whose leaves were charred, whose air was filled with the burnt residue of human flesh and hair.  He almost stumbled as he threw a panicked glance over his shoulder, the horrors chasing him invisible and unstoppable.  Away, he had to get away.  A branch sliced against his cheek drawing blood, adding another line to the dozens already there.  He never even felt the pain.  Every step risked the torment of being tripped up by a log or a treacherous tree root.  But still, he fled because he knew that the beast that pursued him would rip his soul apart.  And then there were the hands that tried to grasp him as they thrust through the decayed forest floor, faces half buried, yearning to share their pain with him - their teeth bared and bloodied, ready to bite into his skin should he fall amongst their loving maws. 

He couldn’t fall.  He had to go on.

And then the forest ended and he came to a paralysed halt.  There was nowhere left for him to run, the cliff edge as effective a barrier as if there had been a fifty-foot-high wall.  He couldn’t go back and in terror he circled his position, knowing his fate was rapidly charging towards him.  His life was about to come to its end.

Blood dripped from the wound on his hand where he had bitten into it in hopeless anguish.  He could hear the beast in the forest, could see it as the trees were cleaved from the ground, mere annoyances to the power that was about to be unleashed.  Below him, the red waves crashed against rocks, and he knew he only had one choice. 

The Beast slowed, and he could hear its breath now, could almost smell its fetid malevolence.  Death wouldn’t be the worst of what would happen if the beast caught him, that would merely be the start of it.  He knew he had no option, knew that to save his soul there was only one door now left open to him.  Backing up, he felt the edge of the ground, behind him only space.  Earth gave way beneath his boot, falling into the bloodied sea.  One small step and it would all be over, a rush and then the rocks would claim him, shattering his bones and ripping his flesh.  Then the sea would engulf him, the red plague consuming him with the acidic enzymes that waited.  But it was better than the beast.  A year of torture was better than a second of the Beast.  He saw it now, the eyes glinting in the moonlight.

Show me your flesh, the Beast said, the voice like a thousand fingernails on a thousand blackboards.  His flesh went cold and he felt himself being drawn towards the devilish owner of the voice, it was so hypnotic despite its venom.  His left foot even started to move forwards.

Come to me.  Show me what your soul tastes like.  Then the beast lunged and he was suddenly in space, falling, a scream roaring in his throat, the howl of failure that bellowed from the lips of the Beast crumbling the cliff face all around him.

Charles Grader woke to the sound of his own beating heart, a silent scream trapped in his parched throat.  He looked up at the ceiling, the world swimming around him. 

Fuck.  Not again. 

When would these nightmares stop?  This had been the third time in two weeks that the nocturnal ordeal had manifested, a dream that had been haunting him for over two months now.  Every time, that same awful voice saying the same awful words over and over, the very sound seemingly enough to shred his mind.  Every time, the same feeling of dread that took hours to leave him, the same feeling of impending doom that filled his waking hours.  And then the haunting images that lingered in his vision, even with his eyes wide open and the real world all around him.  The seas and the oceans as red as blood, the sky dark and the forests of the world burning.  The agonised faces of the people, the faces of madness and slaughter. 

That was how he had started his day.  Now he sat in front of his computer, the dawn light only just rising, the words he needed to write completely eluding his troubled mind.  He’d never had writer’s block before, and it terrified him because it was so insidious.  His research was his life now; it was more than a passion.  It was everything he was, had filled the voids left by the tragic death of his wife and son.  They in their part had filled the voids left by his retirement from the Army and the loss he had experienced there.  His writing was all he had and it felt like even that was now being taken away from him.  Charles didn’t think he could cope with that.  Something inside him felt like it was going to break, already damaged by the viciousness and the harshness of life. 

The bells of St Mary’s Church began to chime and he counted them off as he always did.  Seven a.m.  Two hours before he had to give his first lecture of the day.  As much as he enjoyed lecturing to the young eager minds that flocked to hear him, he knew it was going to be a struggle to show them how much their chosen topic of study meant to him today.  He felt half dead to the world, shattered.  At most he’d had about three hours of sleep and much of that was spent thrashing about in a nocturnal battle against an enemy he couldn’t see, taste or touch.  A battle against his own mind.  More coffee, he needed more coffee.  That was the only way to get through the day.  That was his only defence against the demons from his own Id.

The dream came back to him, as it often did in these early hours.  It was always the same.  The seas blood red, the rivers and the lakes all bleeding into the land.  The people sick and dying.  The smoke and the flames and the pestilence.  The world of the apocalypse.  They said that reality often seeped into your sleeping mind, and he wondered if that was what it was?  Was it his latest project, the one he was struggling with?  The latest book he was researching was about the misrepresentation of the original texts upon which the Bible’s Book of Revelations was based.  As Visiting Professor of Abrahamic Faiths, it was the one topic that fascinated him above all others.  And yet perhaps his subconscious didn’t agree with him or want him delving into this controversial topic.  Perhaps controversial was an understatement.  Perhaps the nightmares were trying to tell him something, warning him that this was not the direction his life should be heading.  Perhaps they were warning him of a world yet to come.  And all this was because of one email that had arrived in his inbox a year ago.  Charles still didn’t know who had emailed him the document that was the basis for his entire project.  But there was no mistaking where the email had originated.  The Vatican. 

Janet, his secretary at the University, had jokingly said that perhaps he was having prophetic visions.  He’d dismissed that outright at first.  The mere concept of the paranormal left an unpleasant taste in his mouth because it didn’t fit with the logical mind.  Charles left that sort of thing to the psychics and the Tarot readers peddling their nonsense to the naïve and the frightened.  But sat there in the quiet and the dark of the morning, he began to wonder just what this project he was engaged in actually meant.  Was it really worth the potential cost?  If the nightmares carried on, he’d have no choice but to go to the doctors.  And Charles hated doctors, had done ever since the lower half of his right leg had been blown off by a landmine in the backwaters of Afghanistan.  Every day he remembered that moment, the constant throb where his limb had once been a less than subtle reminder.  The momentary look of pity on his Corporal’s face, his men fleeing to a safe distance on his orders.  Then the wait as he prepared himself, knowing that to stay where he was meant almost certain death, but also knowing that to jump off the mine would activate it and bring (at the least) immeasurable pain.

His life at present was a constant struggle between fighting the demons in his own mind and battling the pain in his own body.  It was a battle he was afraid he was slowly losing.  But had he known what the future was about to unleash upon him, he would have retreated to his bed and gladly accepted the very things that were presently tormenting him.  They would have seemed like bliss compared to what was about to be unloaded upon his broken and sleep-deprived body

G20 Summit, Geneva, Switzerland

Ivan Abramovich half-filled the glass with vodka and took a mouthful.  He was alone in his hotel suite and he awaited the impending call from his country’s President.  The President called you when he was ready, no matter how important your news was, and one did not complain about being kept waiting if one wanted to prosper.  The vodka burnt his throat, but it was better than the stuff he had grown up drinking on the streets of Moscow.  Much better.  You could strip paint off cars with the noxious concoction his childhood had revolved around.  So, perhaps another glass.

Just as he raised the drink to his lips a second time, the phone in his room rang.  Here we go.  Ivan paused before lifting the receiver, nervousness filling him.  He had been unable to stop the inevitable and his skin tingled with worry at how the President was going to react to the news he was about to reveal.  Would Ivan get the brunt of the blame or would the President accept that, really, there was nothing that Ivan could have done to prevent this, not when the nations of the world were clearly joining against Mother Russia?

Please hold for the President.  There was a click and then the most powerful man in Russia came on the line.  Even though Ivan was ten years the President’s senior, there was no mistaking the fact that he was the underling in this conversation.  Ivan had grown up through the ranks of the old Communist party, had seen the purges and the vilification of individuals by the state, and had survived it all.  And despite all that, despite the new ‘Democracy" in his country, he feared this President more than any man he had ever encountered in his seventy years of life.

Ivan, what news?

It’s not good I’m afraid Mr President.  The other G20 nations have all agreed to implement the program.  America, the UK and Australia are already chipping their population.  The rest will be rolling it out this year.

We were assured Saudi Arabia was going to reject the proposal.  The President’s voice was calm, but Ivan knew the man.  Underneath the surface, he would be boiling with fury.

The Arabs lied to us.  What can you expect?  If you remember I told Alexi not to trust them.

Yes, yes you did.  But this is disappointing, the President said.  You haven’t heard the best of it yet, Ivan thought.  At least the Israelis are still refusing to implement the chip.

I’m afraid there’s more.  Ivan’s hand was shaking.

I see.

They have passed a resolution that inclusion in the G20 requires acceptance of the chipping program.  They want to make it mandatory and global.  There was a pause on the other end of the line.

Unacceptable, the President said. 

They are threatening sanctions on any nation that doesn’t take up the chip.  They say it’s the future of global commerce, a way for them to once and for all eliminate all cash.

How can Europe support that?  We supply all their gas?  They would live in the dark without us.  The President sounded incensed now. 

That’s why Saudi Arabia backed the plan.  My source tells me they have been promised billions to build their new pipelines.  And the cursed Americans are promising deliveries via their new Liquefied Natural gas facilities.  This will hit us hard Mr President.

So again they wish to poke the Russian bear.  So be it, our people have suffered far worse.  Thank you Ivan.  I will come back to you with more instructions.  The President broke the connection.  Ivan exhaled in relief and refilled his glass.  Yes, he would definitely need a second glass. 

He knew this was going to happen, had predicted that this implantable chip technology was the game-changer.  The Americans saw it as their way to re-establish their waning dominance over the world.  As sole manufacturer, they would make billions off it and have a stranglehold on the entire world’s financial system.  The other countries, desperate for taxes from their ravaged economies from the still-unfolding world economic collapse, were willing to jump at the opportunity presented by this new technology.  The irony was not lost on Ivan.  The so-called free nations of the world were about to enslave their entire populations.  Not even Stalin could have dreamt of this.

London, England

Seriously?  You’re going to inject me with that?

Don’t worry, it won’t hurt a bit.  The nurse waved the injection gun in Jason’s face almost menacingly.  She’d lost count of the number of people she had injected this week.  There was a momentary glimpse of derision in her face, but it quickly washed away into the placid look of meek empathy.  Seriously, it’s painless.  If little kids can have it without complaining, I’m sure you can.  You’ll be fine.  Her patient didn’t look convinced and perhaps he was right to be sceptical.  The implant had yet to be authorised for use on children.  The nurse had just said that to try and activate his ingrained masculinity.  She stood before a man who looked like he could knock down a brick wall with his bare hands and figured he could use a dose of reality.  He was covered in tattoos for Christ’s sake. 

It won’t hurt a bit.  How many times had doctors and nurses said that to patients over the years, only for those patients to learn that it was a big fucking lie?  Fortunately for Jason Glover, this time it didn’t hurt.  The nurse removed the numbing patch that had been placed on his skin thirty minutes before.  Carefully she pressed the applicator against the back of his neck and injected the microchip into his flesh, making him jump from the sound it made.  As the nurse pulled away, Jason turned and looked at her in surprise. 

Keep your head still please, she admonished.  The nurse cleaned the blood from the injection site and put a small plaster over it.

All done.  See, I told you it wouldn’t hurt.  She smiled at him more out of pity than genuine empathy.  And if you had a job you wouldn’t even be having this, she thought to herself.  She liked this job, it paid very well.

Now that it was over, Jason had to admit, he had been a little bit pathetic about all this.  It was only a microchip he was being injected with.  It wasn’t like he was having his leg sawn off.  He was a grown man and a large specimen at that.  With the amount he could bench press he really shouldn’t have been afraid of something that was the size of a grain of rice.  It was just the thought of something foreign being implanted in his body.  Jason, whilst accepting of tattoos, had never understood the compulsion to implant bits of metal into human flesh.  Tattoos yes, piercings never

Thanks, Jason said, not really meaning it.  He really hated the idea of being chipped and not just from his fear of any pain it might cause.  It was a violation.  What was he, a fucking pet?  What happens now?

The chip remains inactive until you see your caseworker.  They will activate it and transfer all your information onto it.  The nurse took off her gloves.

That’s it, Mr Glover, all done.  See it wasn’t so bad was it?  Jason half smiled at her and rubbed the back of his neck, feeling the plaster there.  That was it, he was marked for life now.  But really he had no choice and he put his t-shirt back on, the back of his neck still numb.  Picking up his coat, Jason stood and wandered out of the curtained cubicle.  To his right, he could see the waiting area where dozens of people were waiting to have the same procedure.  They all looked as apprehensive as he had.  Except for one, a man dressed in designer clothes, mesmerised by the latest Smartphone.  Obviously one of the nouveau riche.  Jason had read something about that, about how the hipsters and the sons and the daughters of the elite were lining up to have the implants placed.  For some reason, it was deemed as fashionable.

The air outside the hospital was brisk, and the protestors had set up early today, held at bay by a smattering of tired looking police officers.  There were about three dozen protestors at the bottom of the steps leading down to the main road, all with banners decrying the evil of the Veritas chip.  They thought they were helping, but ranting at those forced to have the bloody thing wasn’t really serving anyone but themselves.  If they wanted to have a go at someone, why didn’t they vent their spleens at the politicians who had forced this shite through?  Jason looked at his cheap and ageing watch.  He would have preferred to still be in bed at this hour, wallowing in his own misery.  But he hadn’t been given a choice, and he was noticing that there was a lot of that at the moment.  I mean OK, that wasn’t technically true.  He didn’t HAVE to get up at seven a.m. and he didn’t HAVE to go to the hospital to have the bloody microchip implanted.  But that was only if he didn’t mind not eating and living on the street.  The government were almost apologetic about it, but they had no other choice they said.  They had trialled prepayment cards and food stamps, but there had been too much fraud, too much selfishness by those who were so callously abusing the government’s charity.  Those in power were quite open in their opinion that those begging for help obviously couldn’t be trusted and that they needed to be guided.  Her Majesty’s opposition seemed to back the decision at every step.

The bought and paid-for media backed this up with only a few dissenting voices.  Jason didn’t know what was worse?  The fact that he was being lied to, or the fact that those lying thought that nobody would catch on?  The politicians, who derived their power from the placid consent of the public, still hadn’t learnt that the public wasn’t the relentless morons the elite thought them to be.  Sooner or later, something was going to blow.

The law had been passed a year ago.  A unanimous decision by a Parliament that was trying to keep together a country ravaged by economic oblivion.  Not just in Britain, but in all the G20 countries.  Poverty and Social inequality needed addressing, and this was the first step on the road to a promised Nirvana the people were told.  Bullshit of course, but he wasn’t presently in a position to argue.  And it wasn’t even his primary concern now.  Feeding himself was.

The bus stop he needed to wait at was right by the forty or so protestors, and he just knew he would get a torrent of their religious and anti-capitalist bullshit.  Jason sighed and looked both ways to ensure that he wasn’t about to be ploughed under the treads of an articulated lorry.  The road was clear and he crossed it, hoping the bus would arrive on time.  They never did though, not these days.  There was a roar from some of the protestors and his eyes flitted over some of their signs.  Jason groaned inside from how pathetic it all seemed

DO NOT TAKE THE MARK OF THE BEAST

SATAN IS LYING TO YOU

GOD ABANDONS THOSE WHO TAKE THE CHIP

There were other slogans on the banners of course, but those were the ones that stood out as the ramblings of the insane.  The thing is, it wasn’t even a mark.  Once the injection site healed, it would be completely invisible.  And although he didn’t like the idea of a foreign body in his system, the thought of what the chip could do actually appealed to him on a certain level.  No more cash money to worry about, no more credit cards...not that he had a credit card at present.  It meant free travel on all public transport, cut-price utilities and easy banking.  Not that there was any money in his bank, the steady depletion of his funds and the lack of jobs forcing him down this desperate road.  And he was far from the first to take the chip.  There were nearly five million like him.  It still surprised him however how few people were actually objecting to the implantation program.  Initially, there had been several voices stating the dangers to people’s human rights, but those voices were no longer heard.  The talk shows and the media now hardly mentioned the chip.  And with the rare examples witnessed by him today, most of the population just went along with it...probably because THEY didn’t have to have the chip.  At least not yet.

Satan’s whore someone shouted.  Jason didn’t think it was aimed at him, but he peeled the dressing from the back of his neck and deposited it in his pocket.  If he’d had long hair, he could have covered it.  The plaster was an obvious sign of why he had been in the hospital, and despite his ability to look after himself, he didn’t see why he should give the windbags an excuse to have a go at him. 

There were three other people actually waiting for a bus, and he wondered how many of them had visited the hospital just as he had.  They all gave the crowd nervous glances, mindful of the reputation the religious movement had acquired for themselves lately.  Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t see the young woman until she was almost in his face.  He would have found her attractive, but for the tattoos and the face full of jewellery. 

You!  Did you take the mark?  She pointed a finger at his face accusingly.

For fuck’s sake, get out of my face.  Jason was not a small man.  Six foot one, and well over fourteen stone, most of it muscle.  Trapped in the void of unemployment left you with time on your hands and he had filled some of that time by transforming his body.  He just wasn’t the kind of person who could sit at home with his feet up watching the TV all day.  It just wasn’t him.  He’d tried it, only to grow restless and uncomfortable in his own skin.  It had left him dead inside.  Normally his new-found bulk gave him an imposing presence, but not to the young girl it seemed.

You did didn’t you?  You let them stick you with the devil’s needle.  A bit of spittle escaped her mouth and Jason wiped it from his cheek.  He didn’t try and hide his disgust.  In the distance, he saw his bus turn the corner. Thank fuck, he thought.  He would have thanked Christ, but that might have been a bit too ironic.  A second protestor joined the girl, a lanky man with long hair who obviously didn’t believe in shampoo or deodorant.  If that was what heaven smelt like, Jason would take Hell any day of the week.  Jason could have crushed the pair of them like bugs.

You’ll burn in Hell, the lanky man said.  Jason felt himself puffing his chest out in response and the assailant did retreat slightly, putting himself behind the girl.  So, not as brave as he thought he was, Jason mused to himself.

I thought the White Knight was supposed to protect the Maiden, not hide behind her.  Jason found himself smiling at his own comment, pleased that his brain was working at this time of the morning.

You need to have it removed.  There’s still time for you to be saved.  The girl tried to grab his hand to pull it out of his pocket, but his strength defied her, and after several moments of struggle, she gave up in exasperation.  Jason noticed a Policeman wandering over to see what the fuss was about.  It would be marvellous if PC Plod could actually do his job.

"Look Love, not that it’s any of your business, but I didn’t have a fucking microchip stuck in me.

Oh yeah, what were you doing in there then? she demanded.

It’s a fucking hospital, people go to hospital for shit that’s wrong with them.

No you had it I can tell, Lanky said.  Jason hit him with a stern gaze that made him retreat some more.

You want to watch this one pet, he said to the girl, who turned around to look at Lanky.  You might not be able to see it, but the only reason he’s here is to try and get into your pants.  She looked at him in confusion.  Did she finally see it?  She was still young and naïve, which was obviously why she was here, rebelling against shit she didn’t even understand.

How dare you Lanky said stepping forward in mock bravado.  Lanky put a protective hand on the girl’s shoulder, but she shook it off.  Jason could see he had created the desired effect, sowing the seeds of doubt and suspicion in her young, ideological brain.

Get out of my face NOW and I won’t hurt you, Jason said.  He didn’t shout, but he said it with enough menace for those around to know he wasn’t bluffing.  The bus began to pull up at the stop, its doors opening, Lanky having to dodge out of the way so he wasn’t blindsided. 

Violence doesn’t solve anything, the girl demanded, but he saw a spark in her eyes that showed her true self.  Jason shook his head in pity.  She was on a one-way ticket to an arrest and a criminal record.  And then what would she do, because that meant forced implantation.

Oy, a voice came from behind them, what have I told you about harassing people?.  Both the girl and Lanky turned to see the Policeman storming towards them.  Jason took that as his signal to Foxtrot Oscar.

Apollyon Inc. Research Headquarters, California, 2014

Exposing the test subject to radiation did not seem to have had the desired result.  Eric Winchester pushed the glasses up onto his nose as he watched in horror the events unfolding before him.  The man in the containment cell in front of him had suddenly begun to rip at his own bare flesh with his fingers.  Research of this magnitude demanded sacrifice, Eric understood that, and it wasn’t the fact that the man was on the path to death that distressed him so much.  It was just the fact that he was admittedly squeamish when it came to blood and there was plenty of that visible now.  Fortunately, the blood was locked away behind reinforced glass in a room he would never need to enter.  He had technicians for that, something they had been doing a fair bit of recently.  Eric could sit, safe in the relative sterility of his laboratory and let others do all the things that he found distasteful.  And he would need to sit in that laboratory for several more weeks now because what he was witnessing represented an abject failure of his work.

Eric watched in morbid fascination as the man began to gouge at his own stomach.  Eric wasn’t even interested in knowing the test subject’s name, so he merely referred to him by the number he had been assigned.  V34.  This wasn’t a human in Eric’s eyes, this was a test subject for Eric to do with as he wished, and the results this time were immensely disappointing.  With a push, V34 thrust his fingers into his own abdominal cavity and began to tear an opening into himself.  Part of the small intestines popped free, and Eric watched as V34 grabbed it in a gore-slicked fist, pulling the long abdominal organ out, where it began to unravel.  Yes, Eric was really glad he had people to clean up after him and he wasn’t sure he would want to use that examination room again.  He would have to see how well it was cleaned after V34 was dealt with.  Although it might be best to wait until the subject had incapacitated himself further, the two technicians who had been in the room when V34 had erupted into violence either dead or unconscious on the secure chamber’s floor.

There was no denying that Eric was a rare genius, but such a monumental level of intelligence left little room in his significant brain for what was considered to be the more primitive of human emotions.  He just had no empathy or remorse and was consumed with the desire to achieve and create whatever his intellect plucked out of the ether. It was Eric who had perfected the nano-technology behind the implantable chip that was causing V34 to disembowel himself.  He was revolutionising science, and yet there were some weeks where he couldn’t even remember to shower or shave, so engrossed in his work did he sometimes become. 

On his own Eric had floundered, despite his powerful intellect.  He was so difficult to deal with as a child that he had been placed in a special school where his gifts could be nurtured and his tantrums and anxieties could be medicated.  His parents had been reluctant at first, but when they learnt that a benevolent benefactor would be funding his placement and his future education, they almost wept with relief at the freedom they would experience from the tyranny his condition caused them.  Looking after him had been like a jail sentence, a punishment for transgressions they didn’t even know they had committed.  That was how Eric came under the care of a company called Apollyon Inc. who at the time had been scouring the land for the most brilliant and yet most damaged children.  They could be collected, looked after and nurtured, their minds moulded to see what secrets they would reveal.  Many of those taken from their parents had been deemed failures and had been institutionalised, but occasionally one like Eric became the diamond in the rough, proving the worth of the program.  Now Eric worked for them as one of their top researchers.

His inability to interact in the way humans were expected had become a problem, and he couldn’t be trusted to fend for himself.  As his intelligence grew, his faults became more evident.  That was why the Apollyon company had provided him with a personal assistant who did more than just answer his phone and book his appointments.  She looked after him almost like a mother, and with more patience than his own mother had ever displayed.  And like a mother, Constance Fairchild put up with his tantrums, his moods and his basic lack of social skills.  Because he truly was a brilliant mind, and because the pay she received for doing so was astronomical. 

So good was she at what she did, that Eric quickly developed a level of trust in her that was unheard of, allowing his carer into his life.  The first few weeks had been rough, but all of a sudden he had looked at her one day and something in him had just seemed to shift.  From that moment forward he would do almost anything she told him to, and she was even able to calm his rages when they hit.  Under her care, he became more focused on finding the secrets of the universe, and he became easier for the other members of the research team he was a part of to work with.  Eric would even share things with her that he had never told anyone, thoughts and ramblings that were often on the brink of madness, but that on rare occasions showed insights and ideas that were worth billions.  She recorded it all, and she was there on the day he looked up from his morning cereal and said

We need to create an implant that will link the world together. 

Watching as he cast the cereal aside with the sweep of his arm, he grabbed a pencil and paper and started scribbling furiously.  Eric had been single-minded in the past, but never quite to this degree.  So Constance sat and watched, replacing the paper as it began to run out, fetching him pencils and sharpening the ones he broke.  And he broke many.  After seven hours, he had reams of calculations that revealed secrets and technology almost unheard of.  It was as if he could latch onto the enigmas of the universe and bring them into reality. That had been the start of their present five-year journey together.  A journey that now culminated in the failure Eric witnessed before him.  Only he didn’t see it as a failure but as an example of how his invention needed to be changed.

Constance had other tasks.  She even drove him home when he actually decided to leave the laboratory, sleeping in the spare bedroom of the luxury condo provided by the company.  Time off to herself was a luxury she was rarely afforded, but she had understood that was the sacrifice she was making.  Once this project was complete, she would never have to work another day in her life. 

In truth, Eric had become so dependent on her that he probably would fail to function as a human being should she one day leave her position, which was something she never really considered until recently, and it bothered her sometimes in the dead of night.  Because she knew what Apollyon Inc. was capable of, had seen the way they willingly flaunted the laws of the land in which they operated.  She sometimes wondered if they would actually ever let her go.  She was valuable.

One of the reasons she could control Eric so well might have been due to the fact she was almost as skilled a genius as Eric himself.  This helped considerably because it meant he could respect her on a level he couldn’t anyone else, although he rarely showed that respect.  For her part, Constance tolerated the man as a means to an end.  She had PhD’s in biology and genetics, and yet she craved financial success over academic.  Constance looked at him now, contemptuous of the man’s inherent flaws, but in awe at what the mind could create.  One of her other unofficial duties had been to service his sexual needs, which she had baulked at until the amount of money dangled before her became too enticing.  Fortunately for her, Eric Winchester had no sexual needs, at least none that he had displayed.  He didn’t even molest her with his eyes like most of the other men she encountered in this bloody company.

Subject V34 now in stage 4 with liver involvement, Eric said to the digital recorder he held.  He is the last test subject of the V1.2 of the implant, and subsequent subjects have not shown similar reactions with the latest version.  Although this subject’s cancer can be linked to the microchip implantation, I am confident that the alterations I have made to the nanites will negate this in future hosts.  I have also been unable to prove that the implant itself is the cause of the cancer in this or any of the forty-six other volunteers, although it is a logical conclusion that such a rare cancer could only be caused by one thing.  I have no explanation as yet as to why V34 has suddenly turned so violent.  Eric turned to Constance and spoke to her for the first time that day.  Normally he just ignored her.

I need to see him autopsied.  I need to see if it’s the radiation that did this.  Constance nodded.

Later that day Constance had stood at the head of the company’s main conference table, the six senior executives waiting for her report, some clearly ogling her athletic form.  Eric would never be able to do such a presentation.  The man was almost a recluse, and outside of the laboratory, he was riddled with social anxiety anytime he was around non-scientists.  Although she had no proof to back up her suspicions, Constance had concluded that his genius just couldn’t abide being around anyone who was significantly below his level of intellect, which, with an IQ in the two hundreds, was pretty much everyone.  Constance wondered sometimes where Eric would be now if not for herself and the Apollyon corporation. 

Eric is convinced the modifications to the implants have solved the issues seen in the initial test subjects.  He proposes expanding the volunteer list to include non-essential personnel who work in this facility.  That way they can be monitored.  He thinks keeping the volunteers confined has had a detrimental effect.

Do we want to risk that kind of exposure? one of the executives asked.

I have checked Eric’s research and it seems sound.  Version four of the implant has shown no signs of causing cancer in any of the two hundred test subjects after six months.  We propose just making it a condition of future employment based on security concerns.  And Eric has already begun implementing some further changes for the fifth version.

And what if someone tries to remove the implant?  Aren’t we risking someone reverse engineering it?

The nanobot technology fully integrates into the human nervous system.  Once implanted, the only way to remove it will be the removal of the cervical vertebrae, which as you know means death.  Once in, there is no taking it out.  Constance watched the man whose decision this all depended on.  Victor McKenna, the ageing owner and company founder, sat at the other end of the table, silent and methodical in his thought.  He rarely said anything, just watched and listened.  The people who worked for him learnt quickly not to stare at his fire-ravaged face because he didn’t tolerate that. He never had.  There were stories of the rages he used to descend into in his younger years, but now the ageing man never let his placid exterior slip.  You had to act as if you didn’t see the scars, didn’t see the lip pulled up into a permanent sneer.  Some could manage it and so they retained their jobs.  Others, well they were never seen on the company grounds again.  And often their future careers were destroyed by a man who was worth more than some countries.

I approve, said Victor.  We will expand the test subject base to two hundred of the lowest level employees.  I have also brokered a deal with the Federal government to have the latest version of the implant placed in all Federal inmates serving life imprisonment.  The most dangerous need to know they can be monitored and found no matter where they are.  As for our employees, we will give them all cash bonuses as an added incentive.  If we go six months without incident, then we shall proceed to official human trials and seek FDA approval.  Constance looked like she had won the lottery.  Just so long as you’re sure Constance. 

Eric assures me he has cracked it.

Good, said another of the executives.  We just don’t want this one biting us on the arse.

That’s the beauty of using employees, Constance said.  We can monitor them through the company’s medical clinic, and know that every one of them is scared shitless about losing their jobs.

Have the briefing paper ready for me in an hour please, Victor said to Constance.  I’m meeting General Bradbury this afternoon to finalise DOD approval of the implant.  He has shown a level of reluctance I wasn’t anticipating.  Once we have them on board, we can work towards mass distribution.  People.  With that Victor stood and left the room, the five executives filing out after him.  Constance watched them go.  She exhaled deeply.  Doing these meetings always left her feeling nervous.  Victor had a reputation of non-toleration when it came to failure.  Thus went the official log of the meeting. 

You better be right Eric, she whispered to the ghosts in the room.  Despite her drive and her determination to make this project a success, there was doubt lurking on the periphery of her consciousness.  The voice would come to her in the quiet moments, gnawing at her.  She ignored it as best she could, but it persisted, poking and prodding at her, reminding her that she had a conscience.  What you are doing is wrong, the voice would say.  You need to stop, to get out, to get away whilst you still can.  But she ignored the voice as part of her own self-doubt.  There was no place for such thoughts in her life now.  She had arrived, was making more money than she could possibly dream of, and was involved in work that was at the cutting edge.  Everything she had ever dreamt of was at her door, and yet the nagging persisted. 

Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should.

Cambridge, England - present day

Valentina watched Professor Charles Grader from the deserted doorway twenty meters away.  Charles locked his front door and walked out onto the bustling street.  She knew his routine, knew where he went every day, for she secretly lived his benign existence with him every day of every week.  She knew what coffee house he frequented and what he always ordered.  She knew the names of the people he routinely said hello to.  She knew where he worked, who his colleagues were, and even knew what his favourite websites were.  She had been surprised by the lack of pornography he visited, which made him seem almost boring.  But he was chosen, so boring or not, she did what she was told to do.

Valentina would have also had great insight into Charles’s friends, except for the fact that he really didn’t seem to have any, not in Cambridge anyway.  He lived his life for his research and his job and Valentina knew this because she had been observing him for over three months now, following the implicit instructions of her organisation.  She could appreciate Charles’s dedication because living for your job was something she herself was well versed in.  Her own life at present was to watch and record the lives of others.  And if the instructions came through, she would willingly and efficiently end those lives in any way that was deemed necessary.  More and more often such actions were deemed necessary for the greater good.

Hooded and swaddled in a coat that hid her muscular form, she followed Charles at a safe distance, blending into the background, unseen and unremembered, in silent pursuit of the limping man.  Not even the numerous surveillance cameras watching the streets she travelled recorded her face, which to her knowledge had never been captured on film or digitally.  Even when she was forced to travel to other countries she did so by private jet and any airport screening of her features miraculously became corrupted on the various immigration databases.  There were also ways to disguise one’s features that beat even the biometric cameras.

If Valentina died tomorrow, the only mention of it would be a deletion of her file in a certain database in a certain office in a certain building.  Nobody would miss her.  Well, technically that wasn’t true.  One man would miss her, but if she was liquidated it would likely be as a joint execution.  So good was she at what she did