OUT OF DARKNESS COMES: PRELUDE-THE FIRST THREAT

By NALA NICOLE

 

A drug epidemic

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Nala Nicole books
• Release date: May 20, 2023
• ISBN: 9781087952543

NALA NICOLE

Nala Nicole is an exciting new voice in the literary world, hailing from the United States. As a debut author, she is ready to make her mark on the literary scene with her unique perspective and imaginative storytelling. Born and raised in a small town, Nala developed a passion for reading at an early age. Her love for books inspired her to explore the world of writing, and she soon discovered her talent for crafting captivating narratives. Drawing inspiration from her favorite authors, she embarked on a journey to create her own stories that would enthrall readers from start to finish. Her writing style blends the elements of Science Fiction and Thrillers seamlessly, resulting in a thrilling and thought-provoking reading experience. With a keen eye for detail and a natural storytelling ability, Nala Nicole weaves intricate plots that keep readers on the edge of their seats. Her characters are multidimensional, each with their own motivations and flaws, making them relatable and engaging. Nala's passion for cross-genre fiction allows her to explore a wide range of themes and ideas, pushing the boundaries of traditional storytelling. Nala Nicole's debut novel promises to be a genre-defying masterpiece. Her innovative approach to storytelling is sure to captivate readers and leave them craving more.

Book preview

PRELUDE

Earth, 2063

Two Months Earlier,

For some pain is a kind of death.

It strips them of their dignity and eats away at their soul. It never stops because it is ravenous and evil at its core.

Today, the third trial had begun to quell such a pain.

The rooms inside Banfield Laboratories—six in all—were a cold grey, built with thick concrete on three sides and a glass wall for viewing by the group of scientists and two others who had dialed in remotely, shielded by blacked-out Tron monitors.

Inside each room was a hospital bed with various medical equipment at its side. And within those rooms were two medical assistants and their test subjects.

The subjects were willing volunteers, under the vices of testing a harmless drug, much like any other common pain reliever already on the market, to take away even the most excruciating pain that could ever be imagined. Suffice it to say, all the subjects had one thing in common—they were all suffering, whether real or imagined.

In one of the rooms the subject, an elderly woman, looked up at her med-tech as the tech was actively connecting her to various apparatus in preparation for the infiltration of the drug, This is going to work, right? she asked, hoping. No. Praying that this drug would eliminate her pain from her incurable rheumatoid arthritis.

In another room, a man suffering from chronic pain, a result of an accident he’d suffered years before, said to his tech, This is going to work; I can feel it.

All the subjects had some sort of preconceived notion or another that this miracle drug would save them from their suffering.

The subjects were broken up into two groups; the first was the controlled group, made up of three people, where they’d received a simple liquid made with water and a blue, food dye; the second was given the actual drug.

The drug had been administered to all subjects. Now, they waited. The entire laboratory was silent as the minutes ticked by.

The subjects had begun to feel the effects of the drug. First, there was a warmth spiraling through every vein, every muscle, every neuron in their bodies. It felt good, exhibited by the relaxed, pleasurable look on their faces.

Day one was a success.

It was day two of the trial. The procedures of day one were repeated.

Somewhere between days three and four, the effects of the drug had started to wane.

On day five the scientists increased the dosages. And just as in the previous days, that new dosage worked for a few days before it had begun to weaken. And, of course, they’d once again increased the dosage.

It was day ten. All the subjects had received their new dosages.

The laboratory was silent as the minutes ticked by, and then….

The lead scientist looked up at the darkened Tron monitors, smiled, and said, It is ready.

PART ONE

THE MAN UPSTAIRS

ONE

New York City

Present Day

We all have our demons, don’t we?

Porsha can very well answer her own question. God knows she’s been dealing with her own demons for far too long; her PTSD is like a shackle around her entire body, dragging her down since her childhood years.

She closes her eyes for a brief second because the room is like a tomb; it is dark and smells like death.

She steels herself. Puts on a firm face. Purses her lips. Can’t let them see me flinch.

Steady.

Breathe

Air in, air out. Ahh. Such a simple thing yet it is complex and a necessary function for not just being alive but feeling alive.

Breathing is freeing for her; it is not feeling a million tiny things poking at her, day in, day out, trying to push her off the proverbial cliff; it is not feeling the weight of her past, her present, and her future caving in on her entire being.

She looks around, searching for ghosts and shadows to tell the story of how twelve people had met their deaths in this Manhattan Brownstone.

As they move deeper into the room, she shudders at the cold, prickly feeling now crawling up her spine. She ignores the feeling; puts on a stern face, fighting back the urge to get out, get as far away from this House of Horrors.

Shit! Why today? Why now?

She moves closer to the victims—her limbs heavy like lead—and shines her tactical flashlight on the body of a woman who looks no more than twenty. What were your demons? She shakes her head in despair, and grimaces, staring at the woman’s wide-opened bulging eyes, blood seeping from the corners and a faint blue glaze that has formed over their Sclera.

Freeze got to you, didn’t it? Poor thing.

She swallows the lump in her throat, for it is fear spiraling throughout her body. No. It is not fear of the dead that she feels. Lord knows that she’s seen enough death to last a lifetime. It is, instead, fear of destiny. Her destiny, for she sees herself in this one woman, whose appearance is so much like her own—young, dark blonde hair, dark caramel skin, deep green eyes.

She often thinks about what it would be like to die, to just give up on life, as life, sometimes, seems to be giving up on her.

At first glance, from the looks of things—the small blue vials strewn about the room, some still in the hands of the victims, and the fact that all the victims seem to have this blue haze over their eyes—they suspect Arctic Freeze is the weapon of choice.

The drug blew in faster than a nor’easter. It has taken New York City by storm. No one is safe. Not the fourteen-year-old kid, not the priest at church, not mom and dad, not even grandma is safe from this drug as it promises to eliminate pain forever. Who would not want such a miracle drug? Therein lies the problem. Just about everyone wants it. Needs it. Unfortunately, for some, for many, it only takes one drop of this magic blue liquid to become addicted, to become a Freeze-head.

She pans her flashlight at the other bodies, all eleven of them, the same as the woman.

Alami, her second in command, walks closer to her… Childs.

Porsha snaps out of her self-pitying episode.

Are you alright? Alami whispers, noticing the glossy, wet look in her eyes.

Yea, I’m great, couldn’t be better.

But is she great? Is she better? Of course not. That’s just what people say when they don’t want anyone to know that they are really suffering inside.

Alami runs her eyes on the victims and blows out a breath. "Well, this makes five hundred. If I didn’t know any betta, I would think that this is some sort of an attack. Like the war has reached these lands, and we don’t even know it."

Porsha sighs, Something more is definitely going on, and we had better figure it out before it gets any worse.

Well, at least we have a pretty good idea what killed them— Bigalow says.

Brewsky jumps in. No doubt the Freeze.

Weber shakes her head, almost as if she cannot believe what is before her eyes, although this is the sixth time, they will have witnessed such a horrific scene. Other than the obvious, the question is where or who are they getting this stuff from?

Alami zeros in on the wrist and arms of the deceased. There is something else that is obvious.

Now she has the attention of the others.

Weber notices the white bands on some of the bodies. Peds.

It looks like the Rads have stepped up their game and not in a good way, Alami says. This is going to be a war.

Porsha realizes that she has no idea who discovered the bodies. She speaks at her comm. Get me Faraji.

It takes less than a minute for the bushy-haired, dark skin image of Timothy Faraji, Director of SBI, Phoenix Unit, to populate the comm’s small screen. Commander.

Director, do we know who discovered the bodies?

Yes. It was a building inspector. I believe his name was Turks. I will send over the file we started, with what we have so far.

What about surveillance cameras in the area, maybe a Tron picked up on who had entered the building within the last twenty-four hours.

We are working on that as we speak.

Thank you, Director. I’ll follow up.

The call ends.

It was a building inspector. Some guy named Turks. Hopefully, he knew enough not to touch anything. Let’s canvas the area and try to interview every single neighbor in the vicinity. Maybe someone saw something or noticed something or someone odd. I’ll start with the inspector. Porsha says.

Alami nods yes,