The King's Creed Ch.01

Subject's processor is inactive due to the receptor unit's destruction via a synthetic, magnetized solutions administration. Active chip needed to study differential brainwaves.

That last part bothered me. The FBI only knew of two people with active chips: Carol and my Sarah. They might ask Carol and Sarah to offer themselves for study. Hopefully, they wouldn't make them do anything . . . but the government has a funny way of "asking" for things.

I closed the last file and rubbed my eyes.

Through the door I could hear crutches thudding on the staircase.

Please just walk by, I thought to myself wearily. I don't have time for your shit right now.

A small shudder twisted its way down my body.

The sound of the crutches on the stairs paused . . . and then continued on its way. I heard the door to Carol's room slam shut, and I breathed a sigh of relief. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I wondered . . . and feared . . . that my chip had done something. But back to the matter at hand.

What would I do if I was on the new task force? Would I believe the testimony of an undocumented confidential informant?

Let's assume that, yes, they would at least take the claim seriously . . . What then? If I was in their shoes, I would do two things.

First, I would put my ears to the ground and try and see if anything extraordinary had happened in recent crimes committed throughout New York . . . something that could be explained by the neural processors. If nothing turned up, I would extend my reach to the major urban centers throughout the United States. If I still didn't turn up anything, I would have the case closed and Moretti put up for review.

Second, I would try and cut a deal with Elijah Briggs. The Justice Department and the military might even get involved. These chips represented a new field of human advancement . . . and the government would want them. The military would especially want them. These things could be powerful weapons, and the United States was always looking for an edge against the Asian Pacific Coalition.

It had only been a little over two weeks since the chips were discovered . . . plenty of time for more balls to go up in the air.

***

The book in my hands was long forgotten. I still turned pages when my eyes reached the bottom of a page, but I couldn't tell anyone what I had supposedly just read. In reality, I was just sitting around wishing Jim would call me. I wanted to discuss tactics with him as I had thought of plenty of viable avenues to proceed with our current situation. I didn't want to call him, though. I didn't know if he would be in a meeting with Jones—or worse—the task force, when I called.

No, he knew I would be able to help, and he would call me.

Crutches creaked on the stairs again.

This time they were more insistent. The floor of the house shuddered slightly as Carol's determined stride made its way to my study. I suppose I couldn't put this off forever.

The door to my study burst open, and Carol stood there. Her chest rose and fell rapidly from the effort of climbing the stairs in her condition. Brown hairs tangled down her face in a disorderly mop.

I slipped into my role as the 'Master' without even thinking about it.

"Please, come in, Carol," I said in my frigid tones of dominance.

She blinked and took a small, startled step back. The angry brunette shook herself and regrouped her anger.

"This can't go on, Jonathan," Carol said with venom in her voice. "I can't go on like this."

My faced softened.

"I would help you if I could," I replied wistfully. "I really would. I'm not a bad man . . . In any other circumstances, I would never keep you against your will."

Carol bit her lip, and a strange look lit her eyes.

"I know you made me turn around earlier," she said.

I stood up and walked around my desk. With two steps, I was in front of her.

"What do you want me to do, Carol? I can't change the way things are."

Her eyes narrowed, and her hands clenched tightly on the crutches.

"Funny," she said in a deadened tone. "My father used to say something just like that ..."

I cocked my head to the side.

"Your father can't hurt you now," I said. "You don't have to worry about him making you do things you don't want to do."

All expression left Carol's face.

"I suppose you're right." She looked past me to my desk. "Might I ask what our mighty and benevolent government is doing to keep others from my fate?"

I sighed. The back of my head was starting to feel . . . uncomfortable. It was like that feeling I used to have when I walked onto a murder scene, right before I saw the body. It was like an instinct that knew something was wrong, even though the rational mind had no evidence for it.

"Carol," I said, trying to ignore the sickening feeling, "I assure you, the government is working very hard to make sure no more people have to go through what Sarah and you have gone through."

She nodded, but the strange blank look she wore remained.

"When do you tell the rest of the world about these . . . these . . . sick devices?" she asked.

I winced.

"We were going to do it this Friday, but we aren't anymore. I suspect the military will want a year or two to study and manufacture technology similar to these chips before they allow the information to become unclassified."

"I see," Carol said simply. She turned around and moved slowly out of my study. I waited until I heard her crutches on the stairs before I sat back down at my desk.

That could have gone better.

Chapter 5

For the rest of the morning I gazed down at the pages on my desk, hoping that some unnoticed detail within might give me a brilliant idea. But . . . no such luck. I briefly entertained the idea of getting drunk, but then I remembered I had finished my last bottle this morning . . . and I hadn't even felt a thing.

Three coffee mugs of whiskey should have gotten me good and drunk. That was another anomaly.

I stood up and stretched.

Maybe I should rustle up some lunch.

I went downstairs and wandered into the kitchen. Sarah wouldn't be back until two, and I doubted Carol would want to join me for lunch. I rummaged in my cabinets and marveled at all the different foodstuffs I now had. Colorful cans and different bottles of spices lined my shelf-space like festive little soldiers. Sarah had bought a whole lot of food. I picked up one spice bottle labeled 'Truffle Salt.'

Some of this stuff was pretty expensive. I hadn't given Sarah any money for all these groceries. I felt guilty that she would feel like she had to spend her own money on food for my house. She was only nineteen after all. I didn't have any idea how much she made with her modeling, but no teenager should be blowing all their money on 'Truffle Salt.'

I shook my head.

Since I was all alone, I decided upon an old staple of my diet. It was pushed way back in the pantry behind all the new purchases, but I finally found my cereal box full of granola. I dumped out the remainder of the box into a bowl and followed it with some milk.

These past five days after escaping from Ronald Turner, Sarah had been cooking practically all my meals. Admittedly, her cooking was a far sight better than mine, but I had missed my little raisins and oats.

I heard the clunking of crutches coming down the stairs.

Carol stepped into the doorway of the kitchen with her purse over her shoulder.

"I'm going to my doctor's appointment, Jon," she said stiffly.

I nodded.

"All right," I said. "Can you drive by yourself?"

She nodded.

"I'll see you later then," I said awkwardly. That strange sickening sensation had returned. Carol turned without saying a word. I heard her leave through the front door, and I listened to her car start and then drive away.

Now I really was alone.

Two weeks ago, this would have been the most normal thing in the world. I had enjoyed being alone since before I could remember. But now, I felt strangely lonely. I glanced at the clock. It was 1:50.

Hopefully, Sarah would be home soon.

***

At 2:00, I heard a car pull up to my curb.

I pulled back the shades at the kitchen window and peered outside.

A gray and heavy wave of clouds had rolled in from the bay, and the sky had turned dim and overcast. In this midday gloom, I watched Sarah fluidly rise from the backseat of a taxi and hand the man a small bundle of bills. The cabbie drove away as she turned to the house.

She saw me peering through the window, and a small smile touched the sides of her mouth. Her eyes lowered to the ground demurely a moment later, and my mind and body tightened with need for her. She looked elegant and graceful as she walked up the steps to my townhouse.

Her pale face was perfectly framed by her red hair and the small black beanie that she had it tucked into. Her hands were pressed into a thigh-length tan pea coat. So delicate . . . It was hard to stifle all the wonderfully brutish and crude fantasies I wanted to impose on her.

The front door opened, and I pulled away from the window. I stood in the middle of the kitchen...waiting for her.

I didn't have to wait long.

She emerged from the hallway. Her red hair, free from the hat, tumbled down her face and back in naturally artful ringlets. Her slender arms were bare without her coat, and all she wore was an elegant, sleeveless white dress.

Without saying a word, Sarah reached down to the hem of her dress and pulled it up and over her head. A wave of energy jolted down my spine. My mind was aflame with a hot, dark lust that demanded I take this soft creature and mold and move her like pliant clay.

I shivered. She had only been gone for a few hours . . . and yet my body was burning for her like I hadn't seen her in a year. Sarah looked like she was equally affected, if not more so. Her bright green eyes were dilated, noticeably so.

Normally, the naturally occurring dilation as a result of arousal isn't noticeable, but Sarah's pupils were enlarged and glimmering with an unrealized film of tears.

Her pale fingers shook as she fiddled with her cream-colored lingerie. The fastenings on the back of her bra eluded her for a few long moments. Then, they came undone. The straps and cups slid from her body, and her breasts spilled free. Her tiny pink nipples were pointed and hard... like they were straining to be touched and sucked.

Her thumbs tucked into the lacy band of her panties, and she slowly slid them down her legs. She stepped out of them and kicked them to one side.

Then, with the poise and grace of falling water . . . Sarah sunk to her knees. She kept her eyes lowered, and she clasped her hands behind her neck. My eyes took in the supple lines of her arms and raised breasts. My gaze lingered on the pale flesh of her underarms and the gentle swell of her bust. She was perfection.

I savored the moment, utterly enraptured by the woman in front of me.

In the subtle registers of human hearing, I heard her whisper-soft breath flowing in and out through the press of her lungs and the sweet curve of her throat. Only when the first moment extended into two... then into a minute... then into two minutes, did Sarah look up.

She had confusion in her eyes and a question on her lips.

"Master," she said softly, "is something wrong?"

I looked down at her, and I could feel the energy thrumming in my veins, like an insatiable beating drum hammering out a staccato of the roughest desires. For some reason, I wanted her to understand what I was feeling.

I wanted her to know... not simply be told... that if I didn't stand perfectly still, I was going to be unable to stop myself. I gazed hard into her eyes thinking these dark thoughts.

"Oh . . ." Sarah cried, as her eyes widened and her body flushed. Her hands clenched furiously atop her thighs as her entire body shook and flushed red. She hunched over, clenching her flat stomach tight as she bowed her head.

Then, she tipped over onto her side as her body trembled in uncontrolled spasms.

Suddenly, seeing Sarah in such a broken state freed me from whatever insidious hold had paralyzed me. I rushed down to the floor and put my hand on her back. Her skin was flush and hot to touch.

"Sarah!" I shouted. "Sarah, what's wrong?" She didn't respond, and I became frantic. I tried to turn her over so I could see her face.

"Sarah, please answer me!"

In great gasping breaths, Sarah answered me. "I'm . . . fine . . . Master . . . just . . . give me a moment to . . . catch my breath."

After a few tense seconds, she turned over. Her body had calmed, but there was a wild look in her eyes. It was a look that spoke of a horrible hunger . . . and a terrible fascination.

She knows, I thought as I gazed into her eyes. Somehow . . . the chips must have done this. The chips had somehow transferred this knowledge. Where did this rabbit hole that we had fallen down lead to? What insanity would we have to deal with?

"I'm sorry, Master," Sarah said as she wrapped her naked arms around my waist. "I'm sorry for scaring you . . . but when I looked into your eyes . . . your pale . . . blue eyes . . . I saw something. I saw one hundred different scenes that all played out the same way."

Sarah buried her face against my chest and squeezed my middle tightly.

"Every single time you were so rough . . . so mean . . . so cruel . . . but it didn't matter." She took a breath. "It didn't matter because no matter what type of punishment you blessed me with, I could take it every time. I was so submissive for you. I yielded everything to you, and it was perfect."

I smiled and brushed her hair behind her ear.

"I'm glad you're all right," I said. I was embarrassed that my voice sounded shaky and hoarse from yelling. "You gave me quite a scare."

Sarah wiggled her body closer to me and giggled. "All those images did give me quite a scare, Master," she said lightly. "You did some very bad things . . . over and over."

I sighed. "I don't know what comes over me. But every time I see you, the urges get even harder to ignore. What was once a hazy sort of fantasy has splintered into a thousand crystal clear perversions. Sometimes I worry that I'm losing myself."

Sarah nodded against my chest. "I know what you mean." She paused, then said, "It was our chips that allowed me to experience those thoughts . . . wasn't it?

I nodded.

"There is no other explanation. In addition to perverting our minds, they seem to somehow allow . . . data transfer of some kind."

Sarah laughed. "I wonder if I can get my email on it," she said.

I smiled.

"Master? Speaking of perversions, where is Carol? Do we have time to . . . umm . . . act out one or two of the . . . scenes . . . that I saw?"

I smiled.

"Yes, I think we do, my dear. Carol just left to get her leg seen by a doctor."

Sarah's mouth turn down into a frown. Her brow bunched in confusion and concern. "Did something happen, Master? Did she hurt her leg again?"

"Umm," I said, wondering what she was talking about. "Not that I know of. I assumed she just needed to go get her leg checked or something."

Sarah shook her head.

"That's odd. She went to see the doctor just yesterday while you were at the office. She shouldn't need to go twice in two days." She paused. "I hope her leg is healing okay."

The last of Sarah's sentence rang in my ears like a church bell. I closed my eyes with a wince.

Her words tumbled through my mind, where they spun and danced into a discernible pattern. I felt the warmth in my fingers and feet withdraw as cold shot up my arms and legs. All around me the world began to crystallize. The normal flow of thoughts firmed and solidified, like a peaceful river suddenly and unnaturally freezing into cold, clear ice. It was so simple. How could I not have realized before?

I opened my eyes . . . and saw.

It was as if all my life I had simply been looking . . . but now . . . I was seeing. It was as if my mind had only been half awake . . . as if I had been blind.

But now there was nothing but clarity.

I had felt something like this before when we were kidnapped, but not to this magnitude.

Sarah's face looked sharp and defined as I looked down at her. I could see every pore on her cheeks. I could see the spaces in between her lashes. I could sense the machinery attached to her spine. Somehow, I knew that if I wanted to, I could mentally reach out . . . and work my will through that machine. I could broadcast . . . and it would receive.

I gently set Sarah down on the ground.

"Sarah," I said calmly, "Carol has most likely stolen some documents from my office. Wait here while I go check."

Sarah opened her mouth to respond, but I was already gone.

I glided through my house with astonishing swiftness. My body felt as light as a feather, and every single step I took was maximized for efficiency. There was no wasted movement, no hesitation.

When I came upon the landing, I saw my study door ajar.

I didn't bother to go in. There was no point. I never left my study door open. I had all the confirmation I needed. I calculated that there was a ninety-seven percent chance that Carol had stolen the classified documents on my desk after entering my study unchaperoned.

A sharp, scalding anger erupted in my mind.

"CAROL, GOD DAMMIT!"

My voice echoed off the beams and banisters of my house. I felt like a walking flame as I thundered back down the stairs. Despite my body's visceral reaction to this sudden betrayal, my mind was still crashing through calculations and probabilities. No mathematical equations seemed unsolvable . . . numbers and algorithms arranged themselves into patterns effortlessly within my brain . . . and then those numbers melted away, and in their place was a plan.

Sarah stood in the center of the hall, her green eyes streaked with tears as she watched me bound down the last of the stairs.

"Master?" she said forlornly. "Did she take them? Please, I'm sure she didn't mean—"

On any other day at any other moment, the sight of Sarah Gale crying would have made me stop everything I was doing . . . but I couldn't stop.

Those documents weren't supposed to have left the Bureau.

"Sarah," I said with a forced calm, "the documents that Carol has taken contain information about the neural processors. She most likely feels the government is trying to hide its existence from the general public for nefarious means. She also feels that she has been wronged beyond repair."

Sarah looked at me with her mouth agape.

"How do you know all this, Master?"

"The chip," I said simply. "Lately I've been noticing anomalies within myself. You've noticed a few as well . . . like when I ate my dinner last night."

Sarah nodded.

"And when you shot those thugs that that creep Ronald Turner hired."

"Listen closely," I said. "Carol is most likely taking the documents to the nearest credible news station. That would be the KNI News channel headquarters in West Midtown. It will take her approximately thirty minutes to make that drive. I'm going to try and stop her."

"Are you sure, Master?" Sarah asked. Her breathing had slowed, and her tears had been replaced by a hardened, focused stare.

"Yes. You stay here. If I don't return, that means I've been arrested. There is a small crawl space under the pool table in the basement . . . hidden by a trap door. Hide there until after the FBI sweeps the house."

"Yes . . . Mas—Jonathan," she said, a slight quiver in her voice. "Be safe . . . I love you."

"And I you . . . I hope I haven't just ruined your life."

Then I was out the door.