City of IF

[Ravagerrr]

:biggrin: Pillbox - Chapter 8

Resurrection


A lamp in the corner of the small room did little to provide illumination. Neither did the flickering amber streetlamp just outside her window, its light filtering through window shades, casting unreliable visibility onto the smoke drifting upwards from her smoldering cigarette, which billowed throughout the stale air.

The single bed in the room was unkempt, its covers bunched up in places, flung undergarments scattered about its surface. A pillow lay scrunched up in its center, while its companion lie discarded on the floor nearby. Skimpy outfits and drag clothing littered the apartment, indicating a resident who could care less about her living conditions.

Despite the smoke clogging the air, a visitor would have been pleased by the scent of the room, something akin to roses, a funky admixture of various perfumes lingering in the sultry humid heat, which hung about the apartment like a fermenting bog.

Sweltering heat had pounded the muggy dwelling all day and the night's cooling had done little to alleviate. Perhaps if a window were to be opened, but tonight, she hardly took any notice.

Seated alone at the base of the disheveled bed a lone female was lost in thought. Tears chased their way down her face, freely flowing onto the carpet, mixing with spilled ashes, staining the floor. Her pretty face was flushed, her golden hair a mess upon her head. Mascara was bleeding down to her chin.

A crumpled document was gripped tightly in her fist, also damp, the first victim of her sorrowful expressions. Its ink had been stained into streaks across the velum surface.

Sobs shook her lithe body for the fifth time that day. She thought back across the landscape of her past, remembering. There had been no single person in this whole world who had meant so much to her as the name scrawled across the stained and rumpled paper. And now that name was as destroyed as the document itself.

Her parents had always been so distant, so controlling, so demanding, and yet so ignorant of the person she was inside. He was the only one to see, to understand, to care. She knew this was going to happen. She'd known it in her gut. Begging and pleading hadn't changed his mind but she'd known it never would. He was stubborn, like her, and would do what he felt he needed to do. It was their nature.

For what seemed like the thousandth time that day, she unraveled the document and read the first line... The US ARMY regrets to inform you... "NOOOOOOOO!", she wailed in agony as tears spilled from her eyes anew.

Angry at God, she screamed sorrowfully into the shadows of her empty room, a dwelling as hollow as her heart, "Why not ME??? Why HIM??? He was better! He was worth more than this, more than ANYONE!" In a fit of rage, she tore the document to shreds, her screams carrying her pain into neighboring apartments. Not so much as a banging on the wall met her wails. No one seemed to care to respond to her sorrow, highlighting her overwhelming loneliness. Without James in her life, nothing mattered now.

Hours passed, her fists clenched and she beat the floor in anger, sadness, and despair. Her pain was like a river threatening to swallow her whole, drowning away all joy from her life, one that had little joy to lose.

As the night passed by, the young blonde finally collapsed onto her bed, tossing aside the crumpled message. He had left her. She was alone. Now no one would care if she continued on her path, her path through sultry bars and midnight rendezvous, a career that had often brought her wealth of money, but poverty of soul.

In a way, she began to feel thankful. Now she didn't have anyone to disappoint.

It was useless to go on lamenting about it. Her stupid brother had gone and gotten himself killed in that pointless war, but that didn't change the fact that she had been served an eviction notice yesterday. It didn't change the fact that just that evening her place of business had been shut down and she was presently out of work. It didn't change the fact that her parents had disowned her. Despite her brother's ill-fated stupidity, she had other things to worry about.

The warmth in her heart began to dissolve away; the love held there evaporated from its shattered remnants, off into the void. Ice gripped her chest and the last remaining breath of her soul filtered out into nothingness. Who needed a heart anyhow? Certainly no one in her line of work. Thanks bro, she thought to herself as she wiped away her last tears, you've released me.

The young woman who had previously been known as Brenda Mack slipped on her usual cynical smile, embracing the numb world she had just rediscovered, the world she usually lived in anyhow.

Sauntering into the tiny bathroom of her apartment, Phantasy, the woman she was known to be by night, began to remove the streaks and stains from her face, to repaint herself anew. She had a job to catch, and a new life to begin.

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Frantically seeking some sort of manner in which he could face the Beast, Mack filtered through numerous strategies. In a moment’s time, he realized, no matter what he could imagine to do, even if he COULD do some of the things he brought to mind, this creature was far more experienced at this than he and would likely out maneuver him no matter what. The one strategy that seemed feasible became his only focus.

Pain, Pain, must focus on the PAIN!, thought Mack in a panic. His vague recollection reminded him that he was here because something was happening to him, to his body, something that he had not had the strength to face. Digging deeply into his essence he pulled forth the only weapons he knew to be fit for this battle, bravery, courage, tolerance.

As expected, flames more powerful than a nuclear furnace billowed forth from the Dragon's lips, jetting towards Mack, burning his skin upon approach.

EMBRACE THE PAIN!

His body melted away as the flames engulfed him.
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The buzzing flatline of an EKG meter created an alarming ripple throughout the assembled medical team.

"We're losing him!” came the frantic cry of an intoxicatingly feminine, thickly Russian accent.

"GOD DAMMIT! DO SOMETHING LINK!” shouted a gruff voice.

"Y-yes Sir!” replied an even more nervous than usual Sam Link. Grabbing the defibrillator handles he quickly shouted, "C-CLEAR!"

WHAP!, came the sound of voltage being passed through Mack's chest. WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

Still no change.

Moments ago, Mack's body had been an incredible scene to witness. His chest had swelled. His neck had thickened. His arms had bulged to twice their size. His face had contorted and twisted about, mending itself of the acidic holes in his skin. Cries of pain had roared through the room, deepening as his throat enlarged, his Adam's apple multiplying in size. Bones had sprouted from his wounded leg stumps, followed by tendons, nerves, muscles, veins and eventually skin, snaking their way into place from their origins in his hips. His entire body grew to immense proportions, the bed creaking under the newfound strain. Everything had been going perfectly, until this.

"MACK!", hollered Sydney into the soldier's ear, "MACK, come back to us!"

Whap! Whap! Whap!

Still a flat line.

Seconds passed, needles were injected, and the panic grew. They were losing him; perhaps he was already gone.

"GODDAMIT MACK WAKE UP THIS INSTANT! THATS A GODDAMMED ORDER SON!” Sternheim roared, pushing poor Sam out of the way like a rag doll. He tore the defibrillator handles out of Sam's trembling hands, plunging them again down on his dying man.

ZZZEEEEWWWWWHHHHACK!, came the extended discharge.

Still nothing.

Tossing the electrical equipment to the side, the General mounted Mack's chest like a jockey on a horse. Raising his hands in the air, clenched into tight fists, he began pummeling Mack's chest, yelling, "AIN'T NO GODDAMM SOLDIER GONNA DIE ON ME TODAY, MACK!" The rhythmic pounding echoed throughout the room as precious seconds slipped away further.

"I-I d-don't understand it!” stammered Sam through his white facial filter, "K-Kape t-took the injections j-just fine! H-he was in m-much worse shape than M-mack here..."

"GODDAM WHOLY MOTHER OF ALL DAMNATION, HELL, PISS ASS KICKED, DOG CRAP PIECE OF,” the unholy litany continued.

"Jesus, Sternheim, leave him be!” Sydney floated upwards to place a hand on the General's arm, pausing it in mid-down stroke.

Turning to face Sydney with a glint of psychotic fury in his eye, Sternheim gradually softened and acquiesced. Mack was gone. That was that.

Dismounting from Mack's lifeless chest, Sternheim solemnly stepped, around to face his team, his back to the operating table. Looking at them all, noting the disappointment in their eyes, he knew they had done all they could. Mack's body had healed, but the shock had been too great.

A sudden gasp from behind him, accompanied by a strong bleep on the EKG screen shocked him out of his miserable mindset... Mack LIVED!

Bursting into the light, Mack was only aware of one thing, that the pain of his healing had yet to recede. Immediately following his initial gasp for air, the medical team covered their ears as Mack emitted a deep-throated roar of agony, which echoed deafeningly throughout the room.
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Bellowing in fury, the Beast instantly knew her prey had escaped.

His essence was gone, yet his mental plane had not vanished in a blink, to leave her in the void as she had hoped.

So, the human creature knows when to run, does he?, she thought to herself through the red haze of her rage.

Well, then, there's more than one way to skin this animal. Now that he's left me alone in his mind, I'm free to explore. No human is an island. Only we Dragons are stone.

Extending her probing thoughts into his mind like the caress of shadowy tentacles, it didn't take her long to find the seeds of revenge she sought after. True, this one had let few close to his heart, but nevertheless, she found a few ties remaining. One string in particular was strong, vibrating with the strength of love. Not a romantic love, but...

Ssssister, the Beast growled deviously.

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The long bass wail tapered down to a meek holler and further dimmed to nothing as Mack forced all the air in his newly massive chest out through his throat. As the air diminished in his lungs, so did the pain, thrust out of him as he strained his vocal cords to their limits.

As he inhaled, it seemed he breathed in life anew, a fuzzy warm sensation of health washing through him. His ears awoke to the sound of laughter, clapping and loud hooting applause. Eucalyptic air spilled into his senses, bringing an icy relief to the burning within.

"HA HAAA, WAY TO GO, GODDAMIT!” shouted General Sternheim, in his exuberance, slapping Sam on the back so hard that his spectacles were flung from his face. "WELCOME BACK, MACK!"

Tears of joy swelled in Sydney's eyes as he hovered over to the bedside. "We're glad you made it Mack. We almost lost ya there,” he said through a smile bigger than his face.

Mack mentally felt around inside his newfound body. Nothing seemed out of place, not a nerve out of whack. In fact, strangely, he could sense the activities of every organ, every cell from his head, down through his... LEGS! They were BACK! He would be able to WALK again!

Taking another deep breath, feeling the air course through his lungs, into his blood stream, passing throughout his body, charging his heart, his muscles, his mind, he launched into a stretch, like a cat awakening from a long nap. It felt wonderful! His muscles flexed and twisted and literally vibrated with energy! Wanting to leap to his feet he remained cautious and decided to simply sit up instead.

Creaking and groaning beneath him, the aluminum frame finally gave way under Mack’s newfound girth, collapsing into a chaotic heap with Mack at its epicenter.

Finding his voice among the shatter and clatter of the operating table, Mack roared with a youthful laughter, the gleeful chorus of the others in the room following suit.

Catching himself in his own ears, he stopped abruptly... his voice, so, so DEEP! He took a moment to look down at his body, checking himself over much in the same manner as he had weeks before when coming to from his war injuries. He gasped to see just how developed he had become.

His chest was like that of a horse, powerful and rippling with muscles.

His shoulders and arms were as thick as tree trunks.

Even his hands had grown such that he could fully engulf a basketball with them. Squeezing his fingers together into a fist, he realized he could just as likely explode such a ball with ease. Flitting his fingers back and forth through the air, he, strangely, felt no lack of digital dexterity. If anything, his thick fingers were more sensitive and nimble than ever.

His stomach looked like swells in an ocean, deep, powerful, six muscles chiseled out of stone. While his waist remained covered with a white towel, he could tell, from his newfound ability to scrutinize himself from within, that his manliness had been equally as gifted from the procedure.

But the crowning joy was beneath. As he gazed out upon his newly recovered legs, legs as thick as tiger torsos, enormous and perfect, his heart swelled with emotion. For a moment, his happiness was so overpowering that he felt a bit dizzy. Vertigo, however, was never again to have the strength over Mack that it once held, and a sense of balance returned as quickly as it had been lost, returning as if his head now carried an internal gyroscope between his ears.

He stretched his bare, mammoth feet, rolling them around on his blessed ankles. He twiddled his new toes in childish glee. Looking up at those surrounding him, a tear slipped down his cheek. He was whole once again.

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Phantasy strolled down the Vegas strip, surrounded by lights, buzzing activity, honking cars, and, of course, money in all its expressions. Dressed to kill, in gothic leather attire, sporting a pale face with black lips, she was here for a piece of that pie.

Palm trees swayed overhead in the warm night desert air. Catcalls followed her as she pranced down the sparkling walkway.

Keep moving, she though out to the men who took notice of her startling beauty, Trust me, you want nothing from me. Still, she flashed her admirers a coy wink or two as she couldn't help but lavish in their lustful praise.

She paused to consider her course. Repeatedly flipping the business card she held in her delicate fingers, she took note of the sign displayed in bold brass lettering above the casino doors nearby: Ceasar's Palace. This was the place. She held the card up under the dazzling lights overhead to once again read the inscription, stamped in silver ink: Lucky's Dreamhouse, a place of sensual delights and eternal bliss.

Flipping over the card, rereading the handwritten scrawl again for the unknownth time: Phantasy, your work is legendary for a new girl in town. Down on your luck? Meet me at the craps tables in C's Palace at 2 AM sharp. The opportunity of a lifetime. Signed with an elaborately inscribed '7'.

Not sure who to look for, but certain she would know him when she saw him, Phantasy prowled in through the glass doors of the famous gambling hall.

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Pain in the pit of Mack's stomach brought him out of his gleeful sea of emotions. "Oh, God," he exclaimed, gripping his tummy, "hungry!"

Laughter followed throughout the room.

Striding over to Mack, who was now sprawled out on the floor between the two shattered halves of the aluminum operating table, Natalia, black hair silkily glinting in the bleached overhead lighting, offered forth a white robe. "I resent having to give you this Mack," she said with a smile, "but I think you will lie there all day unless I do!"

Again a round of mirthful giggles circled about the room.

"Cummon Godddamit," proclaimed a hoarse General, "Let's give the man some damn privacy. Out you go!" Waving the team out of the room, the General turned to leave Mack alone.

"Wait", boomed Mack's newfound tone.

"Jesus Christmas Mack! I nearly jumped out of my goddammed skin... what is it?” replied the General after a startled jump.

Mack rose to his full height, around eight feet from foot to head. Attempting to don the white robe, but finding it too small to fit, he gave up and wrapped it about his waist like a bath towel.

"Damm yer a big boy Mack! Lookit ya!” exclaimed the General proudly.

Smiling a huge white grin, Mack's expression quickly sobered. He somberly asked, "Sternheim, I need to know..."


What should Mack ask of the General?