Summer. It had always been the most magical time of year; especially that first day of it. It made winter seem to have been a bad dream (with a few good bits), and baking lazy days beckoned. The magic of summer wasn’t just in the holidays; it had the power to keep the future away, for that “future self” who didn’t ask ‘why plan more than two hours in advance?’ It was an uncomplicated time; no smoking guns or bloodstained hands, no sirens screaming into the night as your feet pumped with your chest aflame. Summer. Sam had always wanted to go down by the river; for a swim, then a smoke, then just to remember the magic of summer. The magic of…

A pneumatic hiss brings the reminiscing to an abrupt end. Mas had subconsciously registered the advance of the fourteen sets of army boots, the hushed whispers, the checking of carbine rifles. The hiss was followed by a loud protesting groan from the hinge system as the 3-foot thick door to his cell was moved out of the way. Now a pause, most likely the men were surprised by the darkness within the cell. There’s a brief uneasy shuffling, and then a few clicks as flashlights are turned on. Mas doesn’t even bother opening his eyes throughout this, he’s barely noticed he has them closed.

He wonders what they’ll notice first; the stark difference between the futuristic security system and the decaying cell within, or will it be the gouged out holes in the moss riddled walls that reveal a dull metal behind the walls? Or will he be the one noticed first; meditating on the cell floor in the dark, eyes closed palms up. His skin first registers the light upon it, sending a massive convulsion down his spine. “What the…” he hears from the guy in front. A few clicks from behind the guy tell Mas he now has fourteen firearms trained on him. “Easy Gents, I believe you are to…take me to your leader?” No answer. Mas slowly opens his eyes and finds himself staring into a yellow tunnel. A blink later, he is able to make out the men behind; all armed all most likely trigger happy.

“Put the chains and sack on.” It’s the guy in front, who follows his words by throwing him a sack that smells like the depleted Uranium in the labs. Two minutes later, Mas and his posse are marching through a maze of winding corridors, endless flights of stairs and shallow doorways. Mas barely notices the lack of sight, his other senses, especially his ears, map out the surround. Throughout however, he’s quite conscious of the lights they pass. Eventually the procession comes to a stop in front of what sounds like another shallow doorway, only with a door in it. A knock and an unbolting later, Mas is pushed through. As the last guy leaves, he roughly jerks the bag off.

Boner. Mas snickers at the nametag before it’s chortled as he sees the three stars next to it. This realization is quickly followed by that of the strong and irritating smell of “the good doctor”. As Mas pulls his eyes away from the general to look for the doc, he notices the blood splatter from the ground, to the walls and even the ceiling. A chill now runs down his spine, which is very different to his earlier convulsion. “What catches your fancy, boy?” it’s Boner, who is lazily reclined in his chair and with a freshly lit cigar. Even without looking at it, Mas can tell it’s a cheap Californian attempt at a Cuban. “Nothing, just noticed that Elvis has left the building.” Boner, who had begun to rock on his chair, came to an abrupt stop at Mas’ reply. As Mas turns back to face Boner, he manages to catch a quick glimpse of a surprised Boner, before he calmed his face and replied angrily, “Enough chit-chat. I got an offer for you. I need guys like you, guys with…abilities”

Boner is staring at Mas, trying to judge his reaction. The boy seems to be in shock, his head is down and his blond hair covers what remains of his face. Boner curses the volatility of the Omega Strain; if wasn’t so goddamn dangerous, he’d be using his own goddamn man, good man. Not these yellow bellied civs. “Did you know a…” the boy begins before alarms begin to bray throughout the compound, causing the walls to appear to vibrate. ‘Already? How did they find us so soon?’ Boner begins to think, before the alarm suddenly dies; leaving an uneasy, pregnant silence. As Boner is about to send one of the two guards in the room to get a sitrep, one of their radios come to life in a squawk of crackling. “Request reinforcements, over. We’re…-ounded. We can’t ho-” Silence resumes its uneasy reign.

The two men turn to look at Boner; the boy’s head is still bowed. Boner ignores their querying faces and turns to look at this…Mas. “Well? What say you?” the boy slowly looks up. His eyes, which held a playful to begin with, now look ready for murder. “I asked whether you knew a Sam.” Boner is taken back by the question. Sam? Who in fuck is the kid talking about? The shuffling guards behind him however bring the situation back into context. “Fuck you kid. I tried being civil. Jones, Williams, bring him forward.” As they shove him forward, Boner reaches down and brings up a small metallic case. As he pops it open, he reveals two filled syringes and one larger empty one, which Boner proceeds to pick up. As Mas reaches the table, Boner stands a predatory grin on his face. He’s remembered the boy’s Sam. “Yeah, I knew Sam. Nut-job, one of the first to get injected with the Omega Strain; if I remember correctly, he began to devolve, Rambled on and on about demons and a ‘pink hell’, Funny shit, actually. I was kinder sad I had to put him down. Ah, I did get some of the shit on tape. You remember, Jones? ” Mas had gotten redder with each word.

Now, as Jones burst out laughing, resolve settles upon Mas’ face. “He was my brother” he whispers, with these simple words, he proceeds to break his bonds; Boner barely registers the fact that they are made of one of the densest materials. As though he’s in a pool of water looking out, Boner watches as first Mas calmly punches in Jones trachea, cutting him off mid-laugh. Next, in the same fluid motion, he grabs the chair next to Jones and breaks it apart faster than Boner can follow; the end result being Williams with a stake in his chest. Both dead men seem to be dropping in slow motion; already Mas is moving towards Boner. The agony of the inability to act tears through Boner moments before he is slammed against the wall behind him hard enough to break a few ribs.

“You don’t seem to know much about me, ey, Boner. I can absorb ambient radiation…more particularly light. From the moment I left my cell, I’ve been juicing up, you stupid fuck” by now he’s spitting out his words. Boner, even though death is mere moments away, cannot ignore a lifetime of bulldog tenacity and being ‘the top dog’. “Get the fuck outta here. What, you’re some kinda Superman? Fuck you, and your fucking brother. Motherfu-” At that moment, Mas strikes. The room’s eerie light flashes once again, this time off of a needle point. Unlike ‘the good doctor’, Boner is able to fully register the incoming needle point a few milliseconds before it’s driven into his left eye. As Boner’s remaining eye begins to loose focus, Mas presses the plunger hard and has a satisfying glimpse of Boner refocusing momentarily as the Omega Strain is pumped into him. All around, Mas can hear firefights, explosions, screams. But in that small room, with the naked light bulb and dying general, he is able to revisit those magical summers.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

As the hallways were deemed secure, Agent Harris slowly began to make his way towards the “interesting find”. To be exact, there are two of them; one is the legendary Boner who has begun to mutate ironically thanks to his own virus. The other…well, the other appears to be survivor of the Omega Strain, i.e. Washington’s star child. As Harris crosses over a gruesome scene of charred bodies, he is directed into a small room by a marine and passes a sealed black bag that appears to be moving; Boner. Harris turns away from the grotesque site and looks fully into the room. On the floor, in a meditative pose, eyes closed palms up, is ‘the star child’. Lights have been set up in the room to add to the naked bulb’s weak glow. Harris confronts another sickening site; the man’s skin seems to be wriggling. Slowly the man’s eyes open; he doesn’t seem surprised by Harris’ presence, nor to be affected by the harsh glow of the lights. “Howdy, partner” he says with a smile, “the name’s Mas.”

By Sam the Heretic