“Please stop.”

  Raphael opened an eyelid. Gray concrete lined the walls and floor. The monotonous color broken only by the large, rusty circular drain in the center of the room. There were no windows that he could see nor was there any furniture. The room didn't look familiar.

  He glanced to his right expecting to see someone next to him, but he was alone. So where were the screams coming from? Raphael tried to recall where he was and how he'd gotten here but his hazy thoughts refused to clear. He leaned back. Cold crept into his bones.

  Why was he standing by the wall?

  Raphael moved his hand and something clanked. He looked down. A thick silver shackle, attached to a chain anchored in the wall, had been clamped over his wrist. He tried to move his other hand but it wouldn't budge either.

  What was going on?

  He took a step and managed to move an inch before the shackle around his ankle bit into his skin. Why was he chained to the wall? Had the enemy captured him?

  Once again, Raphael tried to remember. What had he been doing before he ended up here? Wherever “here” was.

  The screams of anguish rose in volume but inside the concrete room the sounds were faint. It wasn’t uncommon to torture prisoners with audio recordings. Raphael scanned the walls for hidden speakers. If they were there, it wasn’t obvious.

  He listened to the terrified cries attempting to pinpoint their location. It took Raphael a moment to realize that most of the sound was coming from inside his mind. Which meant...

  Horror filled him. Raphael's head shot up. "Michael," his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Michael!”

  A guard stepped into view. He wore the same uniform Raphael had on. Was he an ally? Raphael felt the shackles binding his limbs. He couldn’t be. He must’ve stolen the uniform.

  “It won’t do you any good to yell,” the guard said. “He can’t hear you.”

  "What are you doing to my brother?" Raphael snarled.

  The guard glanced down the hall. "Not anything good."

  "I demand to speak to your leader. Prisoners of war have rights."

  “Prisoners of war? Is that what you think this is?” The guard laughed. “Doc said you might be loopy when you first woke up. He wasn’t kidding.”

  Raphael frowned. “If you aren’t the enemy, then who are you?”

  “A grunt who’s following orders,” the man said.

  “Why is my brother being tortured?” Raphael asked.

  "You'd have to ask the docs," he said.

  His memory came back in a barrage of fuzzy images. Raphael surged forward. The chains strained but held firm. "Let me out of here!"

  "You know I can't do that," the guard said. "Now step back. I don't want to have to Taser you."

  "Is that what they're doing to Michael?" Raphael snapped. His brother was so fragile. He wouldn't hold up long.

  The guard stared at him but there was no pity in his eyes. "Don't know. Don’t care. That's not part of my job," he said. "All I have to do is watch you until they're ready for you."

  Cold slithered down Raphael’s throat and settled around his heart. "The fact that I'm your commanding officer means nothing to you?"

  The soldier flinched. "My orders came from above your pay grade."

  Raphael glared.

  The soldier's expression hardened. "Don't try any of that head shit with me. It won’t work," he said. "The drugs the docs gave you made sure of it."

  Raphael smiled, exposing his fangs. The man took a step back. The scientists obviously hadn't been entirely truthful with the soldier. If his powers were useless, then he wouldn't be able to hear Michael so loudly in his head. And Raphael could definitely hear his brother.

  Michael, he called out psychically. Brother, what are they doing to you?

  Silence.

  Michael, it's Raph. Tell me where you are.

  The seconds ticked by.

  I-I don't know. It hurts. It hurts so bad. Worse than the first time. Way worse.

  Raphael couldn’t imagine anything hurting as bad as the transformation. What were they doing to his brother? You are going to be okay, he said. Do you hear me? You’re going to be all right. Have they told you why they're doing this?

  They've been ordered to kill us.

  Who...why?

  Michael screamed. Because of what we are...what we've become. God is punishing us for our arrogance.

  Leave Him out of it. This has nothing to do with God and everything to do with man.

  Anger burned through Raphael. They'd been so close. All they'd needed were their discharge papers and they would've been on their way. No one would've ever seen or heard from them again.

  Raphael wouldn't let them get away with it. They’d served honorably. They didn’t deserve this. His brother didn’t deserve this. He’d risked his sanity to help them and this was how they rewarded his sacrifice.

  His fury grew. It coiled and slithered through him, until only deadly venom remained. If they wanted another war, Raphael would give them one.

  I need you to hold on while I figure out how to get out of here, he begged. Do this for me, brother. Do this for our future.

  There is no escaping, Michael said. We have no future. I told you, they intend to kill us. I read their minds.

  Can you infiltrate their thoughts? Turn them against each other? Raphael held his breath. If Michael could slip into their minds, he could control them. Make them do whatever he pleased.

  His power bordered on god-like. But there was no telling how long they’d been torturing him and how many drugs they'd pumped into his system. Was he strong enough? Michael?

  Silence.

  Michael, did you hear me? Silence. Fear quickly ate away Raphael’s anger. He strained to listen. He could no longer hear his brother's faint screams through the walls. Was he dead? Had they killed him like he said they were going to? Or had he mercifully passed out? There was no way of knowing for sure.

  He couldn't be dead. Not after they'd survived all these years at war.

  "Michael!" Raphael bellowed and yanked at his chains. They screeched ominously but refused to give.

  "Save your breath." The guard shook his head. "You're going to need it."

  Raphael jolted at the sound of a squeaky cart being wheeled down the hall. He opened his eyes in time to see a man in a lab coat walk into the room. Was he the same one who'd given the order to drug them?

  He had no idea. How long had they been here? How many days had passed? Without any windows, it was impossible to tell.

  "Where's my brother?" he asked. “Is he still alive?”

  The man in the lab coat didn't answer. Instead, he plugged in his equipment next to Raphael’s chains and began twisting the dials. Raphael felt his arms tingle.

  The machine on top the cart looked like an old-fashioned radio, but he knew it wasn't anything so benign. The device squealed and squeaked giving off a high-pitched sound that made his ears hurt. A syringe and a scalpel sat on a tray next to the machine. Raphael didn’t like the looks of those either.

  "What are you doing?" Raphael asked.

  The man continued to work, until he was happy with the instrument's tone, then he said, "I'm not going to lie. This is going to hurt."

  "Why are you doing this?" he asked. "We came here to be discharged. The war is over."

  "I have my orders just like you." He reached for a scalpel. "If you don't stay still, I'll have David flip that switch." The man pointed to a toggle on the machine, then motioned for the guard to move closer.

  “David,” Raphael said. “So that’s your name.”

  The soldier’s face paled. “You shouldn’t have told him my name.”

  “It doesn’t matter now,” lab coat man said.

  Raphael didn’t have time to enjoy the soldier’s discomfort. He had more important things to focus on—like the scalpel in the man’s hand. He took a step back, but was met by the cool concrete wall. "Keep that away from me."

  "I’m just removing your sleeve." The man made quick work of the material and tossed it aside then dropped the scalpel on the tray next to the machine. He picked up an empty syringe and a rubber strap.

  "What do you plan to do with that?" Raphael asked.

  "I would think that's obvious." The man didn't clean the skin with alcohol. He simply wrapped the rubber strap around Raphael's arm until the veins bulged, then jabbed the needle in. With the utmost care, he slowly pulled the plunger out. The vile filled with crimson as Raphael's blood poured into it.

  The coppery aroma teased his nostrils. Raphael's fangs extended automatically.

  "I'm sure you're hungry," the man said, not taking his eyes off the job he was doing. "But I'm afraid feeding you would only delay the inevitable."

  "If you're going to kill me, then why do you need my blood?" This man wouldn't be the first who'd wanted his blood to further personal ambitions or to seek power. Raphael had encountered many over the years.

  He and his brother, Michael weren't like the others who'd been created in the image of vampires. They could walk in the light without instantly exploding. Michael even more so than Raphael.

  Through the years scientists had run hundreds of tests on their blood trying to determine why they were different. It was ironic that the people who'd developed advance gene splicing couldn't find the one gene that made the brothers special.

  The man’s brown eyes locked on Raphael's face. "The war might be over now but you never know how long peace will prevail. This..." He popped the vial off and shook the bloody glass in front of his face. "Will be stored for future use." He stoppered the vial, then put a fresh one on and continued to withdraw blood.

  "You're going to clone me?" he asked incredulously. That was one way to tackle the gene problem. Raphael didn't like the idea of a bunch of clones running around with his face.

  "Only if necessary," the man said.

  "Wouldn't it be easier to keep me alive, so that I can fight? Why go through the trouble of having to train new men, when you have the real one right here ready for orders?"

  "Not my call." The man shook his head and grabbed another vial. "My orders are clear."

  Raphael mentally reached for Michael. He couldn't feel his brother, couldn't sense him in any way. Hadn’t been able to for a long time. He grew very still. "Did you kill my brother?" The quietly spoken question sounded like an explosion within the room.

  Lab coat man stopped what he was doing and looked at the man tasked with guarding him. Sweat broke out across the soldier's forehead and David glanced nervously toward the cell door.

  Raphael's stomach sank. He wasn't sure how he'd do it, but if the man in the lab coat said yes, he was going to kill him.

  "Does it matter now?" he hedged.

  "Yes, it's the difference between you living and dying," he said softly.

  "Then you're going to have to try to kill me."

  Even though he knew what was coming, Raphael's body trembled as the words were spoken aloud. His brother was dead. They'd made it through so much only to have it end here.

  He quaked. He should've protected him better. They could've walked away after the war ended. No one would've been any the wiser. Instead, he'd followed orders. And for what?

  Michael was dead. And he soon would be.

  He glared at the man in the white lab coat. If there was any justice in the world, he'd be able to take him with him before he went. When the man reached for another empty vial, Raphael lunged at him.

  The man jumped back. "Hit it."

  David flipped the toggle switch, then moved away.

  Electricity shot through Raphael's shackles, jolting up his arms, until his entire body jerked violently. Pain exploded inside his head, temporarily blinding him.

  He bellowed a second before his jaw clamped shut. Raphael's fangs burst through the front of his lower lip, slicing his skin. It hurt to breathe. And when he could finally take a breath, the smell of burning flesh reached his nostrils.

  “Shut it off,” lab coat man said.

  The soldier flipped the switch and the current stopped.

  "You will pay for that," Raphael gasped. His arms and legs continued to twitch. "And you'll pay for my brother's death. I promise."

  "Hit him again," the man said.

  David hesitated. "But sir..."

  "Do it now!" the man shouted.

  Raphael cried out as the electricity ravaged him.

  Brother stop screaming. I can't survive your pain.

  Michael?

  There was no answer. Had he wanted to hear his brother's voice so badly that he'd imagined it? Electricity crackled through him. Raphael's boots blew off his feet, landing across the room. He slammed into the concrete again and again unable to control his movements. Something in his skull cracked. If he were simply human, he'd be dead by now.

  "That's enough," said the man in the lab coat.

  The current died and Raphael’s head dropped forward. His body slumped, hanging from the chains. The silver shackles were the only things keeping him upright.

  "I'll come back and get the rest of the samples in a couple days. Dehydration and starvation will take the fight right out of him." His cart squeaked as he wheeled it toward the cell door. "Don't get too close to him. They have remarkable healing abilities."

  "Yes, sir."

  "And David."

  "Yes, sir."

  "No matter what it looks like or what he says to you, he's no longer human," the man said. "Don't make the mistake of thinking that he is. No human would've survived that many volts. He’s one of the cursed." He looked down and his lip curled. "And for god's sake get something to cover his feet. I don't want to have to look at them. They are disgusting."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Might as well hose him down while you're at it," he said.

  "Yes, sir."

  Raphael glanced up in time to see David look at him and grimace.

  "I'll be back once I finish with the other one," he said, then left.

  3

  Raphael wore a dead man's boots. David hadn't said so, but a live soldier didn't have the luxury of owning a second pair. And given the condition of the shoes, it was a safe assumption that whoever had owned them didn't need them anymore. David had hosed him down as requested, but that had been days ago. How many? He couldn't say.

  All Raphael knew for certain was that he was dying. His organs were shutting down. The stench of his decay was nauseating. He hadn't fed in over a week. Blood no longer oozed from his cracked lips and he could barely raise his head.

  The last time the man in the lab coat had come to take Raphael’s blood, he hadn't been able to access a vein. After ten minutes of frustrated trying, he'd said we're done here and left.

  Raphael hadn't heard from Michael, since...he didn't know when. He now accepted the fact that if his brother wasn't already dead, then he would be soon. He'd been in worse shape when they'd arrived. No matter how strong Michael's will was he wouldn't have been able to survive the torture this long.

  The pain in his chest refused to ease. Raphael couldn't even mourn properly. He was too dehydrated to cry.

  A radio crackled. "Get ready to go."

  “Right away.” David gathered what little he had and glanced into the cell. "It'll be over soon," he said. "You won't have to suffer any longer."

  Raphael tried to lift his head. In the end, the only thing he could do was tilt it. His vision swam as he attempted to focus on the soldier.

  He opened and closed his mouth, but no words would come out. David shook his head pityingly and left. The world spun and Raphael passed out.

  The next time he awoke, he noticed a unit of men making their way through the halls. They stopped only long enough to set explosive charges, then they moved on.

  Raphael tried to call out, tried to catch their attention, but none of them noticed him. And if they did, they didn't acknowledge his presence. It was probably just as well. He wouldn't survive another day any way.

  "Everyone out!" someone shouted.

  Boots pounded down the hall.

  Raphael listened to them fade. Wouldn't be long now. The seconds ticked by. He heard a loud bang above him and the walls shook. More explosions followed.

  Plaster and concrete rained down from the ceiling, crashing onto the floor at his feet. Raphael closed his eyes and prayed to the deity of his childhood. With any luck, he'd soon see his brother and family again.

  The walls bucked, then bowed behind him. The chains tethering him came loose. Then everything seemed to move in slow motion. There was a flash of orange and red as the charge across from his cell went off. The blast lifted Raphael up, then slammed him back, but there was no longer a wall behind him.

  Raphael expected the building to come down upon his head, but instead he was propelled out. Objects blurred in front of his face as he rocketed through the air.

  It wasn't until he hit the ground and sunlight blinded him that he realized the objects were trees. Part of the wall had traveled with him and was now perched upon a log.

  Too weak to walk, Raphael simply rolled, allowing gravity to pull him beneath the concrete slab. It was as good a gravestone as any, he thought.

  From this angle, Raphael could see the sunlight and hear the purr of engines in the distance. Given the level of noise, there was no doubt the last of the troops were moving out. Soon the place would be shut down for good.

  Raphael lay there enjoying the smell of clean air. He'd been afraid that the last thing he'd smell before he left this planet was his own foul odor.

  A twig snapped nearby. Raphael’s breath froze in his lungs. The sound came again. This time closer. They’d found him. He was too weak to fight. Too weak to do anything but die. At least that's what he thought until he caught a sweet aroma drifting on the breeze.

  What was it? His mind was too starved to focus.

  The footsteps drew nearer along with the wonderful scent. Raphael found himself crawling toward the sound, when every instinct inside of him was screaming to stay put.

  A set of boots appeared next to his makeshift grave. The feet stood in place a moment then eventually moved, taking the delicious aroma with them.

 

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