Elfen Lied Fan Fiction ❯ Angel of Massacre ❯ Revelations ( Chapter 7 )

Disclaimer: I don’t own Elfen Lied nor am I making any money off of this. And isn’t that a shame.

Summary: Elfen Lied has ended with Lucy’s death. But the story lives on so long as the Diclonius Virus spreads. This is the story of Michael Mordare, the first Diclonius born in America. And more importantly, this is the story of the first male Diclonius born outside of captivity. This is the story of Michael’s decent into madness, and the beginning of Samael.

Warnings: This is rated T for bad language, intense dark themes, and gruesome murders.

Author’s Notes: "This one," said Metatron, addressing Moses, "is Samael, who takes the soul away from man." "Whither goes he now?" asked Moses, and Metatron replied, "To fetch the soul of Job the pious." Thereupon Moses prayed to God in these words, "O may it be Thy will, my God and the God of my fathers, not to let me fall into the hands of this angel."

---------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------

Ang el of Massacre

Chapter Seven: Revelations

It occurred in the Darkness, as these kinds of things normally do. Light exposes evil and thus evil seeks darkness. The deeper the dark, the more evil can roam. The worst of evils happen where the light cannot illuminate. And because of this, it is no wonder matter why it occurred far beneath the earth’s surface, beyond the reach of the sun’s rays.

There are diclonii facilities all over the world. The very first one was built in the Pacific Ocean just off the east coast of Japan. It was built in Japan because that is where the first diclonius appeared. Perhaps it was built especially for her, the queen diclonius. Nobody knows because that facility sunk beneath the ocean when she rampaged freely. What is known is that there are more facilities with different purposes. A facility exists to study the diclonii vectors. Another studies a diclonii’s psyche. Yet another facility explores the diclonii’s biology. Many more are merely holding facilities that cage the majority of the diclonii population, and if the need for room rises, serve the role as an execution site for needless mutants.

The first facility built in the United States was authorized by the Bush administration. It is located off the shore of Cuba, yet still in the United States. This facility studies the diclonii psyche and how diclonii react to their environment and persecution. It was this facility that discovered that diclonii first release their vectors after a high level of stress is introduced. This is called the “trigger point” or as the militia calls it, the “oh-fuck-me point.” This is probably because those are the famous last words of anyone and everyone standing within proximity when the trigger point is reached.

The Director and board of this facility is top secret information. Only a few names are known and only those whose names are mentioned are important to this tome.

--------

“Gentlemen, I appreciate you coming together for this critical meeting.”

The meeting was held in the subbasement of the facility, a place so full of Darkness. A place where evil thrives and flourishes. The subterranean facility is located two kilometers deep. There is only one elevator shaft that leads to the main cellar. This means that if the elevator is deactivated or destroyed, there is no hope for escape. It is for this very reason that the shaft has powerful explosive charges imbedded inside it. In the case of a diclonius escape, the very first priority is the destruction of the only escape route. If one diclonius manages to run loose, all of the people in the facility will be doomed. This is the danger that all of the employees face whenever they ride the five-minute drop. To this day, however, there have been no attempted escapes.

A large, spacious room held the critical meeting. No taxpayer’s expenses were spared in furnishing this area. An impressive, Mayfair veneer modular table is the centerpiece of the meeting room. It has a hardened glass top and gilded mahogany wood. It’s actually four tables arranged so that they meet in a large hollow rectangle. In the space between the tables lies a holographic projector, state of the art technology. Today, the projector is running hot. Images fill the air with sharp HD detail. Unfortunately, sharp detail is exactly what isn’t desired. The pictures show the events of the previous night’s massacre, taken by recaptured technological battle-helmets. High-definition picture after high-definition picture appeared from a first-person view. It was like a train wreck, you simply can’t look away.

The NETBAT tactical helmets were installed with cameras that take pictures in real-time and save them onto tiny 2GB hard drives. The pictures could actually be uploaded just by electronically accessing the helmet. Still, the helmets aren’t cheap and there are strict orders to collect any lost helmets. This is made easier as the helmets are also installed with a GPS tracking chip connected to a privately owned FALCONEYE-011 satellite.

There were eighteen people sitting around the remarkable table and not one of them looked remotely happy. A tall built man with broad shoulders stood before the rest of the conference. He looked younger than most of the people, probably in his mid-thirties. His clean-shaven, pointed chin was set firmly into a professional frown. There was not a single strand of grey hair on his head. Instead, his hair was chestnut brown and trimmed into a neat and tidy business cut. Narrow eyes the dark color of the midnight sky scythed through the enraptured crowd. At a microscopic level, he may be enjoying this. He spoke with a clear, morose voice that punctured the heavy silence like a 14mm bullet.

“We have a crisis on our hands.”

A low murmur swept rose from the people, bits and pieces becoming clear now and again.

“When does Noah ever have good news? He’s like the prophet of doom.”

“There was that one time he thought he was dying…” There was low laughter from the other man. Then an elder man with white hair sitting at the head of the conference table silenced him with a piercing glare.

“Be quiet! This is absolutely no time for childish behavior Mr. Mulligan and Mr. Evans. Please continue Noah.”

Noah Brimstrome allowed himself a small, half-smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Thank you Director. Now, as I was saying.”

The images were frozen. The central image was stacked on top of a pyramid of accompanying pictures. It held the clearest image of the diclonius, Michael Mordare. The diclonius was a young boy, age sixteen, born February 18th, 1992. He has had by no means a pleasant life, but it is unheard of for a diclonius to go sixteen years without reaching the “trigger point” of stress.

“I’m certain you have already read my report, so I’ll simply give you a summary of our current situation.”

Noah cleared his throat and spoke to the whole room.

“Mission SIEGE went into operation yesterday afternoon. Agents Raymond Thorn and Chaz Brown entered the Mordare household and searched for Subject D-1, yet they failed to find him. Posted half a block away was an armored vehicle with thirteen fully armed operatives. The two agents interrogated Mr. and Mrs. Mordare before killing them. They achieved their secondary objective, killing the infected parents. Rather unfortunately, it seems as though Subject D-1 was hiding in an attic. This oversight cost Agent Thorn his life. Subject D-1 witnessed his parents’ deaths and triggered his powers.”

At this point, a number of fuzzy pictures appeared. It appeared that the pictures were taken outside the house and had tried to capture the scene through a large window. The light angle was terrible and it was unclear what was happening. Nobody needed any explanation though, the words “diclonius” and “triggered” were all that was needed.

“The operatives in the van used a parabolic dish to catch these sounds. I should warn you that these aren’t going to be easy to stomach.”

An audio file appeared and scratchy words and noises played. The sounds were loud thumps and mystical swiping sounds.

“Why did *intelligible* this?!” It was the voice of a hysterical boy screaming. “Why *unintelligible* -ill my family! What drove you to slaughter everyone I knew and loved! TELL ME NOW!”

After a silent moment a sudden, loud cracking sound echoed throughout the large room. Then a sickening crunching sound murmured through the speakers and began to escalate into ripping sounds. At the climax a nauseating snap sounded and the room fell silent again. The sounds of retching and vomit splattering made one man cover his ears. Then there was more of the out of control boy screaming.

“Why did you kill my family? Are you acting *unintelligible* someone’s orders! Tell me now and I won’t drag out your death!”

A deeper voice belonging to Chaz Brown became legible.

“I didn’t want to do this. I didn’t *unintelligible*you or your family! You gotta- *unintelligible*”

“Oh you didn’t want to kill anyone? Does this make *unintelligible* less DEAD? Answer me or you’ll lose your other hand!”

“No! It doesn’t make them any less dead! I’m sorry! You gotta-“

There was a profound silence.

“You aren’t nearly sorry enough *unintelligible* sorry! Stop crying and tell me something useful!”

Noah paused the clip and spoke briefly.

“It was at this point that three operatives exited the van and made their way to the front of the house.”

He nodded and continued the disturbing show.

“I’ll tell you what you want to know if *unintelligible*.”

Outraged screaming pierced the air.

“You think you can bargain with me!”

“My boss! His name! I can tell you his name!”

“My boss’s name is Noah-“

The clip dissolved into explosive static and Noah swiftly closed the window. “It was clear that Chaz Brown was preparing to give out a name. My name to be exact. We can’t be one hundred percent sure that Subject D-1 didn’t get the rest of my name, but it seems unlikely.”

“At this point the three soldiers interrupted the conversation and engaged the subject. He killed them and fled into a large forest. The remaining ten operatives chased him for the whole night without rest. When they found him, he killed all but one. In the survivor’s detailed report, Sergeant Cole Hunter fought Subject D-1 single-handedly and nearly killed him. Unfortunately, it seems that Subject D-1 has fallen into the blessed fraction of diclonii that can use their vectors even through pain. Cole Hunter still managed to escape with his life and has been treated for severe hand injuries.”

Noah exhaled deeply and seemed to deflate. His shoulders sagged and for a moment he looked miserable. Then he straightened his back and spoke with a greater voice.

“Mission SIEGE is a failure. Subject D-1 has managed to survive and escape pursuers and has now been active for twelve hours. However, there is some good news.”

A barely coherent, “First time for everything,” and the room was silent once more.

“It seems that Subject D-1 now possesses one of our Jericho NETBAT Tactical helmets. One that was formerly assigned to Private Travis Steer. This not only means that we have a GPS signal following wherever he goes, but we can also get real-time pictures of his exact actions, assuming he takes it wherever he goes.”

A short man with a salt-pepper mustache leapt to his feet and spoke loudly.

“So what are we waiting for? We must grab this escapee before he reaches a high-populated place like a city!”

Noah sneered at the man cruelly. He gave him a look that said ‘don’t you think I already know this?’

“It’s already too late for that now. It has been twelve hours since operation SIEGE began; our Subject has reached the nearby city of Toledo. It seems that he has somehow acquired money and is now staying at a seedy hotel in downtown Toledo.”

A fearful look dawned on the poor man’s face and he fell back into his chair, defeated.

“So that’s it then, we can’t contain an outbreak this enormous from the public. Are we utterly screwed?”

“Don’t give up so early, the Subject has yet to go on a killing spree and it seems as though we still have time. The mere fact that he has taken one of our helmets suggests that he has an ulterior motive than just killing humans. Our Jericho NETBAT Tactical helmets have a battery life of seventy-two hours. It has already been twelve hours. We have a little more than two days to recapture our Subject before we lose him entirely.”

The Director placed his fingers together and fixated Noah with a stare. “What is it that you suggest we do?” he asked in his gravelly voice. His tone was that of a man ready to do anything.

Noah smirked.

“I believe that I should take this as a mission. I am clearly the most informed about the whole shitty situation. If anyone holds a chance at capturing this elusive diclonius, it would be me.”

The Director closed his eyes slowly and buried his face in his hands. He sighed deeply and just sat there, nobody knowing what was going through his mind. At last he lifted his head and rested his chin on his knuckles. He held the same defeated look the short man had a moment ago.

“If nobody has any objections, I will transfer authority and funds directly to you. I am giving you an Alpha priority mission, capture the diclonius Michael Mordare and bring him into the facility.”

One man looked as though he were going to say something, but halted. This movement did not escape the gaze of Noah Brimstrome who turned to face the man.

“Oh? Do you have something to say Mr. Fontenot?”

Jeremiah Fontenot was a tall man as well. He was considerably thinner than Noah Brimstrome at the waist and had broader shoulders. This gave him an upside-down triangular shape that was not diminished by his largely pointed features and pronounced cheekbones. His silver hair was swept straight back and combed meticulously each morning. Not a hair was out of place, not a detail was overlooked.

Details are Jeremiah’s god and he lives to gather all the details about everyone he can. It is his belief that the best way to combat an enemy was to learn everything about him and turn him against himself. He is a frightful man with an imposing aura. Jeremiah Fontenot is known as a manipulative and conniving man who probably has spies hidden in every closet in America. At the very least, he seems to be able to pick the exact right thing to say with precise intelligence regarding every subject, as though out from thin air.

It’s common knowledge that Noah and Jeremiah have an intense rivalry. Their eyes locked over the conference table. Dark blue met misty grey. Finally Jeremiah shook his head slowly, his eyes never leaving Noah. Then he spoke with a high, deliberate voice.

“I was just thinking that this mission should have been yours to begin with.”

Noah’s eyes narrowed to slits and he set his chin firmly. Jeremiah saw this as an invitation to explain and continued with his obviously prepared speech.

“This mission should be yours because, in reality, this is your mess to clean up.”

He stood up and addressed the entire conference. “Subject D-1 is an experimental subject who has been studied for the last sixteen years. Experiment KINGOFTHEHORNS has been led by Mr. Brimstrome here. In the beginning, this experiment was on the births of diclonius. He wanted to see if we could bring about the birth of a full diclonius, instead of a mere silpelit. The mother, Sarah Mordare, was artificially inseminated with a batch of genetically altered sperm. Each sperm was infected with the diclonius virus. Ordinarily, this would produce a silpelit, but that wasn’t the only thing done.”

Jeremiah strode around the table until he reached the holographic projector’s computer tower. He fished a USB memory stick out of his left pocket and nonchalantly shoved it into a port. He then grabbed the optical mouse and after a series of furious clicks a great number of text files and graphs appeared in the air. Noah appeared to be seething. His hands clenched into fists and then unclenched. Clench and unclench. Clench and unclench.

“It took several months of failures and many “quarantined” mothers before the experiment produced Michael Mordare. He is 100% diclonius, fertile, and even male on top of that. The experiment was a success. At the end he was supposed to have been terminated. A mysterious case of Sudden Infant Death (SID) and the matter would be over. But Noah insisted that this was, a perfect opportunity to study a maturing diclonius in an open environment, to quote Mr. Brimstrome’s words exactly.”

“Well, things were working fine until nine years ago. Mrs. Mordare nearly had a breakdown due to the high stress of raising a diclonius as a young single mother. It’s apparent that she was drinking heavily and tried to strike a seven year old Michael. What isn’t apparent is what happened next. Mrs. Mordare had to be treated by a sever arm injury that had all of the appearances of a vector attack. Except that Michael hadn’t triggered his powers at that point. The theory we’re working with at this time is that his powers were partially triggered and he viciously struck his own mother. Michael’s powers went back into a dormant state. But now that the barrier had slipped, he was a ticking time bomb. ”

Noah had seemingly calmed himself and was now just glaring poisoned tipped daggers at Jeremiah.

“The situation had become dangerous and it was apparent that action must be taken to prevent a seven year old diclonius from rampaging. Noah took things into his own hand and generously donated twenty-thousand dollars to Mr. Mordare. Michael stabilized and the crisis was averted. At least until the incalculable screw-up today.”

The cat was out of the bag. The beans have been spilt. Something or another about a pig in a poke, whatever that means. It all translates to the same thing in the end. Noah’s dirty secret was out in the open and Mr. Fontenot could not have looked more pleased. This was probably true in a literal sense as neither Brimstrome nor Fontenot were very expressive with their facial expressions.

The Director studied the data with a grave eye before speaking.

“Come out with it already, are you questioning Noah’s leadership?”

Jeremiah gave a short, high pitched laugh, “Oh no, I already said that he was the man for the job. Go right ahead and give him the mission. I could care less. I just did not want him to think he could get away with using illegal experiments to create enhanced virus-infected sperm.”

But that was not all he had done. Jeremiah had sown the seeds of doubt and uncertainty among the rest of the board. He struggled to suppress his own devious grin and yet you could still see a slight tugging at the ends of his lips. He has had possession of this damning data for about ten years and has merely been holding it for the exact right moment. This was one step closer to destroying Noah’s reputability and then removing him from the board altogether! It was almost perfect when…

“Mr. Fontenot, if I could ask a question?” inquired Noah. His voice was low and unreadable. Jeremiah turned toward him and raised an eyebrow.

“How long have you had this information?”

Jeremiah tensed up, he had not expected this. What could Noah be doing?

“I’ve had this for a while now I suppose.” hastily answered Jeremiah. Noah smirked devilishly.

“According to this text file here,” Noah pointed toward an open window, “You’ve had this information longer than six years, haven’t you?”

Jeremiah’s eyes widened when he realized where Noah was going with this. “It has been longer than six years, I guess.”

“Then I’m not the only one who has been withholding information. You should have reported me the moment I began the experiment! Because of your inaction, you could be considered a co-conspirator! A man who knows his friend has killed someone yet does not notify the authorities can be punished for obstruction of justice. You aren’t clean either, you may not have done anything but it is exactly for this reason that you are just as guilty as I am!”

Damn that Noah! Jeremiah clenched his teeth and tried to find a way to turn this back around. This is the equivalent of stabbing someone with a sword who turns around and jumps backwards, impaling you with your own sword. Then Jeremiah relaxed and matched Noah’s smirk.

Well played, Mr. Brimstrome, thought Mr. Fontenot.

“That’s enough you two.” declared the Director, “Mr. Brimstrome, it’s clear that you have been acting behind our backs. If any of this somehow leaked out to the media, we’d have our heads on a pike!”

Suddenly, Noah felt a sudden rush of hatred. A low throb of pain began in just above his left eyebrow. He opened his mouth and pent up words began to spill out.

“Oh get off yourself! If anything we do here somehow leaked to the press we’d be facing the highest punishment! We are treading on grounds that Adolf Hitler himself frolicked. We’re trying to commit genocide on a whole new species and so we do the worst experiments on each of them. The only way we can kill each last one is if we can understand all of their strengths and weaknesses. That’s why we have countless unspeakable experiments performed on diclonii. That’s why we euthanize horned children that aren’t even in their double digits of years. That’s why we salvage the spines from every corpse of every freak mutant we kill. That’s why I did what I did, to further our understanding of this goddamn race! Don’t single me out because everything we do here is illegal!”

He just stood there red in the face. His fists were clenched so hard that his nails were leaving crescent moon grooves in his palm. His midnight blue eyes glared at everyone at the Mayfair veneer modular table. This was a side to Noah that has never been seen before. Director Ayerman’s eyes were mere burning slits, like dying embers of fury.

A sharp clapping sound broke the silence. Heads turned to face Mr. Fontenot, the source of the clapping. He wore a triumphant smirk and slapped his palms together one last time before pressing his palms together.

“Yes yes, that is exactly true Mr. Brimstrome. What you did was illegal and that makes you no different than anyone else here. But what separates you from us,” Fontenot gestured towards the board lazily, “is that every illegal experiment that we do is isolated from the people! We don’t run our experiment in broad daylight. You took a huge gamble by allowing an immature diclonii run loose and you lost. It’s just like you to play with fire and get all the rest of us burned! This is why it is up to you to fix your own mess.”

Noah Brimstrome could feel his supremacy slipping away. It seemed as though everyone at the table was nodding and glaring angrily at him, even though it may have been just four people. The headache in Noah’s temple was throbbing like mad by now. Director Ayerman leaned back in his large chair. His face looked like stone weathered by time. He knew he had to cut this off right now before things got any worse.

“Noah Brimstrome, you are hereby charged with this Alpha-priority mission. Use any means at your disposal to recapture Subject D-1 and bring him in for further study. You have the alternate option of killing him and bringing his body. At this point I don’t care whatever way. As long as he is not roaming as he pleases, I will be satisfied.”

Noah stood there in silence before composing himself.

“Thank you Director, I will succeed on this mission or die trying.”

“Yes, that may as well be true.”

For a moment, Noah didn’t move. Director Ayerman grasped a thick, black cane by its silver gilded handle and forced himself to a standing position. His dark eyes held Noah’s blue eyes.

“Anyone with an Alpha-priority or higher mission is granted full authority over our resources. At this point you have my permission on any method you scheme up. But realize that if you somehow fail despite all of our resources, you will be stripped of all rank and authority before you are thrown out of the facility. Of course, considering your extensive knowledge of this place we cannot merely let you go. For you, the only way out is in a coffin.”

Noah clenched his chin firmly and held his gaze steady.
“Do I make myself clear, Mr. Brimstrome?”

“Yes, crystal clear.”

“Good.”

Director Ayerman hobbled around his cane and began to walk toward the only exit. Everyone in the room stood up and followed the director. That is, everyone except Noah Brimstrome and Jeremiah Fontenot. They were alone in the gigantic room at last.

Jeremiah was the first to speak.

“I didn’t want to bring this up because I have no completely damning proof, but I want you to hear it yourself.” Noah turned his blue eyes towards Jeremiah, who glared right back at him. “Every squad in the anti-diclonius forces is equipped with a small assault weapon (SAW). This is just to try to counter a diclonii’s powers. Interestingly enough, the squad that failed mission SIEGE had no SAW. This critical error just happened to befall the squad in charge of capturing the most dangerous specimen. I wonder if I tried hard enough, would I find a fingerprint of yours somewhere I haven’t found yet?”

Noah’s expression did not betray any fear or worry. He spoke slowly and with deliberation.

“You seem to be implying that I orchestrated SIEGE to fail so I could have a crisis in which to take advantage of. Isn’t that a little fucking convoluted?”

Jeremiah shot back, “Didn’t Rahm Emanuel say that you never want a serious crisis to go to waste? You’re the kind of man who doesn’t get out of bed without planning ahead of time which side you’ll wake up from. You probably have your entire morning planned before you put your head in your ridiculously expensive pillows.”

“If you were half as informed as you seem to be you would already know that I have my ridiculously expensive bed and pillows pressed against a wall so I don’t have to choose which side to wake up on. It hurries the morning that much quicker.”

And with that snarky remark Noah turned on his heels and strode out of the room. Jeremiah waited until Noah was out of sight to roll his eyes widely. Then he left the room in a similar fashion to Noah.

------------------------------------------------------------ ------------------------------------------------------

End Chapter Seven: Revelations.

What a killer chapter! I don’t believe how hard it was to push this dang thing out! Yet it feels great and I still have enough energy left over for the next chapter.

Next Chapter: The Best Laid Plans