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“You planning to sleep at all?” I ask him.
“Are you?” he counters.
We settle in.
I cross my arms and let my chin rest against my chest. I get an occasional jolt from a snarling Mogadorian’s voice coming over the comm, but Adam doesn’t bother translating any of it, which means it can’t be important. We’re going to board one of those warships in just a few hours. It’s going to be the first combat I’ve faced since I started collecting Legacies, my first chance to test out these new powers.
My first chance for some revenge.
I really should sleep. It’s irresponsible of me to keep avoiding it. But the last time I tried, all that I could see was her face. . . .
I can’t keep doing this to myself.
I stand up and stretch my arms over my head. They feel heavy. Everything does. The air feels thick, almost like I’m swimming through it. Finally, that feeling of exhaustion I’ve been chasing after since we got here is beginning to set in.
“You’ll come get me if anything major happens, right?” I ask Adam.
He doesn’t reply. He keeps his face turned away, intently staring at the console. The Mogadorian communications have gone eerily silent. For some reason, instead of asking Adam what the hell is up, I say nothing and just step out of the room.
And into a cavern.
This isn’t Patience Creek.
I’ve been here before.
I’m in a long, dimly lit corridor. The walls are rust-colored stone augmented with steel beams. The air is hot and musty and stinks like something rotten and alive. I do a quick 360 and try to orient myself. If I go down the hall in the direction where it gently slopes down, I know I’ll reach the breeding area where piken, krauls, and any number of other twisted beasts are created. If I go uphill, towards where the lights are brighter, I’ll eventually reach a row of cells.
This is West Virginia, under the mountain. The headquarters of the Mogadorians.
I feel pulled towards the cells, so I begin to walk slowly in that direction. Muffled screams reach me from up ahead. Even so, I keep my walking pace casual and relaxed.
I’m not stupid. This is a dream. And I’m happy to play along.
I know who’s waiting for me up ahead, and I’m glad. I want to look him in the eyes.
I reach the area where an alcove in the cave has been filled with claustrophobic cells. Each reinforced door is equipped with a bulletproof glass porthole to spy on the dank conditions inside. The first few cells I pass are empty. Then I come across one where a dark-haired girl presses her face against the glass. Her eyes and mouth have been stitched permanently closed with wire.
It’s Six.
I stare at her. I make a point to let my eyes linger, to let the terror and revulsion wash over me.
It isn’t real. He’s trying to mess with me, and it isn’t going to work.
Another horrific vision greets me in the next cell. Nine, back when I first met him, except now there’s a bedsheet tied around his neck, and he dangles from a rafter. I don’t spend so much time staring at that one, mostly because I don’t buy it for a second.
“Why don’t you cut the shit and show yourself?” I say out loud, knowing he can hear me. “This is getting boring.”
Up ahead, the screaming grows louder. I approach a room that I remember the Mogs set aside for interrogation. There’s a window to watch through. In the middle of the chamber, a set of thick chains hangs from the ceiling.
Sam is wrapped in the chains. Those are his screams. A viscous black acid trickles down the metal links and burns fresh scars into his wrists.
Setrákus Ra stands in front of Sam, but not the way I’m used to seeing him. His head isn’t pale and bulbous and black veined, he’s not eight feet tall and he doesn’t have that thick purple scar around his neck. This Setrákus Ra is a young man, like the guy I saw in the vision of Lorien’s history. His dark hair is slicked back from a widow’s peak, his features are sharp and stern and he looks distinctly Loric.
He’s one of my people. The thought is still mind-boggling.
He acts like he hasn’t noticed me, although I know that isn’t true. After all, he brought me here. I stand outside the interrogation room and watch him. Setrákus Ra paces back and forth, and every time he crosses in front of the chains, momentarily blocking them from view, the person tangled up in his torture device changes.
Sam becomes Six, her screams filling the room.
Then Adam.
Marina.
Nine.
Sarah.
I punch through the glass that separates the hallway from the interrogation room. It shatters easily and doesn’t hurt at all. I float over the waist-high wall and land a few strides away from Setrákus Ra. He turns to face me, smiling like we just bumped into each other on the street.
“Hello, John.”
I try to keep my gaze from drifting towards the vision of Sarah, tortured, unconscious, that hangs behind him.
She isn’t real. She’s not here. She’s at peace.
I make a show of looking around the room and whistle through my teeth.
“You know, back in the day, these dreams used to spook me.”
“Did they?”
“Now I know it’s just you casting about in desperation.”
Setrákus Ra smiles indulgently and crosses his arms. “You remind me so much of him,” he says. “My old friend Pittacus Lore.”
“I’m not like him.”
“No?”
“He showed you mercy. I’m going to kill you.”
Setrákus Ra circles around, putting Sarah’s body between the two of us. He gives her a gentle shove, and she begins to swing back and forth.
“How is my great-granddaughter?” he asks, making small talk.
My eyes track Sarah, then flick back to Setrákus Ra.
“Much better th
an when she was stuck with you.”
“She’ll come around,” he replies with a smile. “When I’m done with the rest of you, she’ll come back to me.”
“Will your army come back to you too?” I ask, tilting my head. “While you lick your wounds and hide out in my dreams, they’re abandoning you.”
His expression darkens, and I feel glad that I’ve struck a blow to his ego. He steps away from Sarah and towards me.
“The Mogadorians were always just a means to an end for me, John. A neutered species of beasts that made their own home world unlivable with their thickheaded love of war and pollution.” He spits on the floor. “The humans will make for much better subjects once they’re brought to heel. The others will be ashes on the wind.”
“Is this why you brought me here?” I ask, staring at this younger version of my most hated enemy. “To drive home how evil you are? Because I get it.”
Setrákus Ra smiles, comes closer, studying me. His eyes aren’t the pure inky black that I’ve seen before. They’re dark but normal, not changed through years of experimentation. The sick mind behind them is still the same.
“I am old, John,” he intones. “Those visions my great-granddaughter put us through, to see my youth again. . . . I felt something like nostalgia. Once Pittacus Lore was my friend. If he had only listened to me, if we had worked together, we could have spared the universe so much death. We could have uplifted all life.”
“Aww—do you need a friend? Is that what this is? The part where you offer me a chance to join forces?”
Setrákus Ra sighs. We’re only separated by a few feet now. I have to remind myself that it isn’t real. That there’s no point in reaching out and trying to rip him apart.
Even though I so badly want to.
“No, John. When I allowed you to live in New York, I promised that I would let you watch this world burn. I intend to keep my word.”
“Then what?”
“Like I said, you remind me of Pittacus,” Setrákus Ra responds. He drifts back towards Sarah, strokes a hand up her bluish arm and grabs hold of the chain supporting her body. “I tried to show him, just like I will now show you. I wanted you to know what you’re missing out on.”
