West Berlin Safehouse

1986

1:00 a.m.

As if dreaming, Lyn watched her arm gradually raise a pistol to Faust. Red numbers flashed in her point of view and every sound echoed. The exchange between Kalen and Faust became incomprehensible. So she attempted to focus on Faust’s moving lips.

When Kalen slapped him, his tinted glasses flew, body recoiling against the chair. Faust smirked, spit the blood from his mouth. Lyn glanced to her side, the weapon still resting against her leg. She sighed relieved as Kalen continued the interview, both captor and captive speaking German. She discerned a few words, despite her rudimentary understanding.

Melchior. Sleeper. Sull? Sullivan — Grundy? she thought.

The numbers appeared and a dull, aching pain pierced her skull. She grunted, smacked herself, and turned elsewhere. Her hand moved autonomously, aiming the handgun at Faust. Beads of sweat bloomed on her forehead, trickling down and stinging her eyes. She squeezed the trigger.

No… No… No!

Kalen crossed his arms, muscles bulging but otherwise oblivious to her actions. Her vision narrowed as she lined her sights for the kill. Suddenly, her person relaxed, and the world presented itself to her anew. She placed the gun on the bench, took a deep breath. The interrogation chamber reeked of heavy cleaning chemicals and bleach. Flood lights ringed the manacled Faust. A cinema grade camera stood on its tripod recording his every word and miserable face through its cold dark lens.

Kalen sauntered to a bench, retrieved a syringe and filled it with a clear colored liquid. He tapped the needle to purge the air bubbles and presented it before Faust.

“This is something to make you a little more… persuasive,” he said, a sneer in his mood.

He felt for a vein and injected the serum. Faust flinched, a look of disgust on his countenance.

Lyn chuckled. “So, the big underground crime lord fears needles…”

Labored breaths escaped Faust as he succumbed to the serum’s effects. “Fuck you — you harlot!”

Kalen came to eye level with him, patted his cheeks. His pupils dilated like some deep black void surrounded by green mist. Faust swallowed, but his throat went dry, cotton mouthed.

“Let’s try this again,” Kalen said, expression lighting in an impish glee. “Who is Melchior?”

“Melchior? Melchior!”

Large veins popped from Faust’s temples; his arms and neck. In a frugal attempt, he fought against the restraints; each of them tightening the more he struggled. His frame loosened, and he gawked absently at the ceiling, jaw locked into a sickening smile.

Lyn tipped her head. “Is he dead?”

“No, he had a seizure. He’ll snap out of it soon…”

“Right…” she said, skepticism in her tone.

“Melchior… Balthazar… Caspar… Adam… Eve…”

She stumbled as the numbers reemerged, scorched into her mind. As she slipped deeper down the rabbit hole into a dream-like state it felt soothing, tranquil, as if floating on warm water. This time, she allowed herself to drift to eternity.

Valeska, Lynda. Captain. Service number 01928 — 19912 — LV. I am a monument to all your sins…

Her eyes opened, and she saw a smoking barrel in her hand. Kalen turned dark with anger, snatched the gun from her. The coppery scent of blood permeated the chamber. Faust slanted off the armchair, a gaping hole in his skull.

“What the fuck did you do!”

Kalen shoved her and gripped his rat tail. Then he smashed a chunk of stone from the wall. Lyn fell, studied her trembling hands. A metal door opened as Godfrey stepped in, drawn by the gunshot. He rushed to Lyn’s side and held her.

“Lady Lyn, are you okay!”

She stared at the corpse in the chair, still swaying. Kalen secluded himself in a corner, pounding it with closed fists. “We were so close…” he muttered. “So damn close…”

Chess skipped into the room, stood before the cadaver. She crossed her arms behind her rear, leaned forward with curious amber eyes. “Doesn’t seem he would taste that good…” She tugged the butler’s sleeve. “When will we see Adam?”

Godfrey sighed, averted his gaze.

Lyn made a face. “Adam?”

Chess planted herself Lyn’s voluptuous thighs, inched towards her and sniffed. She peered into her storm-like eyes, hypnotized.

“You’re a child of Eve. But Adam loves you. Why?”

“Stop calling him Adam!” Lyn snapped. “His name is Drake — !”

Kalen’s voice was soft, but they perceived the iron in it and silenced themselves. “Adam. He, from whom all others are made…”