Excerpt - A peek into the
horrific mind of the Architect:
No Mercy
The Architect watched Dr. Tate leave the
hospital at 5:00, just like he had every night for the past month. He walked
from the elevator to his mid-sized sedan, fumbling for his keys. Sweat dotted
his brow, darkening the grey streaks along his hairline. He opened the car and
slid inside.
It’s
time,
the Architect thought. The parking structure was unusually quiet, the air thick
with exhaust. She settled herself as Dr.
Tate closed the door. The sound echoed against the cement beams and a nervous
smile formed on her lips.
His death would be child’s play to her
now. After practicing for last the ten years, she had the technique down. Just
picture the blood vessels in the brain exploding and poof, Tate would drop dead from an aneurysm before he knew what was
happening. Quick. Easy.
The Architect wanted to believe the lie;
was desperate to escape the truth she couldn’t afford to accept—killing took a
piece of her soul. Every single time.
Dr. Tate pulled his cell phone and began
to speak. The Architect stared, her mind wandering through his thoughts. The
Doctor knew about death. Murder. He deserved this; he deserved to die.
His memories merged with the
Architect’s, transforming her thoughts into a distant sterile lab. Experiments. Mice.
And death.
The Architect tried to kill the mice,
tried to make their tiny brains explode. But the feelings overwhelmed her—fear
mixed with the blinding hot agony that settled behind her eyes as she pictured
the rodent’s death. Dr. Tate ordered her to try again. And again. But each
attempt brought more of the animal’s pain to her, causing the bile in her
stomach to churn and rendering her useless.
Until Dr. Tate had tried a new
approach—self preservation. Dr. Tate had strapped her to the chair, injected
her veins with a cocktail of cocaine and heroin, knocked her to the ground and
unleashed the vermin. Moments passed before they nibbled at her feet, her
hands, her face. Hyped up on the mind blowing poison, she’d slaughtered
hundreds of mice as they chewed on her bound flesh. She had no choice. Through
her own agony, the Architect could see the rodents’ tiny brains lined with
blood-filled balloons. She burst them all. The mice screamed as their lives
ended with one sharp explosion. It was a sound she’d never forget.
No matter how many more executions she
completed.
The Architect had cut herself off from
her emotions that day. She’d channeled her anger and hate into something else,
something worse. She’d learned to kill.
Are
you ready to prove yourself? the Creator asked.
Her memories of Tate and the lab faded
in an instant.
I
am,
the Architect thought as Dr. Tate ended his call and adjusted his rearview
mirror. The engine roared to life, echoing through the still-vacant structure.
She had little time to complete the mission before he left. The last thing she
wanted was to risk collateral damage.
The Architect’s eyes rolled back and she
imagined life from Tate’s perspective. Her vision blurred as she focused on the
blue glow of the sedan’s interior dash lights. She forced his fingers around
the steering wheel, took a quick breath, and centered her thoughts.
“Your turn to die,” she said to no one.
Dr. Tate slipped the car into Reverse,
his foot on the brake. Blinding light split his head in two. Nausea swirled up
from his stomach, racing toward his throat as the pain intensified. He gripped
his forehead with both hands. Tears welled in his eyes and a strangled gasp
came from his mouth. He pressed harder on the pedal as his thoughts shattered
into a million pieces. Chaos, terror, agony and regret mixed in equal
proportion.
The Architect experienced every moment.
Tate’s pain became hers; his regrets, hers. The end came in a single heartbeat.
His head fell back and his foot slide off of the brake pedal. Dr. Tate’s sedan rolled, hitting the large
SUV behind him. Alarm bells pierced the silence and reverberated around the
concrete grave.
The Architect detached and left his
mind.
It’s
done,
she thought as she opened her eyes. She started the ignition of her own black
sedan and drove away.
Good. The Creator
left her thoughts.
Her lips turned upward as she maneuvered
out of the dark parking structure. The setting sun filled her car with pink and
orange light. Long shadows told her the time as she sped off toward the Pacific
Ocean, pleased. She had passed the test; she’d killed willingly. Acceptance
into the Order wouldn’t be a problem now. Her life would be spared.
The others shared a different fate.
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