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Gregory had this all nicely mapped out. Everything had played out like a perfect movie. He would be set up for centuries to come whilst bringing in scores of cash for little effort; on his part anyway. The added bonus was he’d be cleaning the world along the way and doing everyone a favour.
He was currently sat in his lab, leaned back in his black leather chair, feet up on one of the work benches, with his hands pulled into a temple under his chin. He was waiting for a call from subject H7A2, Stefan Lear, to determine that he’d done his job successfully and killed Katana Kempe.
As a result of her death, subject number H5A2, Ashley Renata, would also die, if everything happened as it should in regards to his theory. Then the answer to his problem of having twelve test subjects that are unable to permanently perish would be found.
Also, along with Katana’s death, his price to the demon Lazarus would be paid and Gregory would finally gain his status of immortality.
The people and souls he’d reaped so far were merely an ‘offering’ to show his commitment to living forever. Apparently, demons didn’t take that kind of thing too lightly, purely because they had to share the earth with the immortal beings that they’d created.
Gregory rose from his chair and strolled through his lab. Heading for the back room, he opened the door that led to the ‘dummy room,’ skipped down the steps, crossed the cold tile floor, and opened the door on the other side of the small space.
When the heavy door opened into the underground room that so many people had been kept captive in, he grinned.
An eerie silence surrounded him for a few seconds before snarls, growls, and shouts of curse words filled the air.
He ambled over to the far side of the dank room, his shoulders squared back, and his head held high. In here, he was God. He could control whether these beings lived or died. He could control whether they ate and drank and even to what amount. Why they weren’t worshipping him was still a mystery to him.
Walking down the long line of cages housing his experiments, he debated which hybrid to let loose next. The vampire hybrids had a particular thirst for blood he’d never yet seen in any werewolf. They would provide a good show.
The shifters were a bit of a disappointment. He’d gone too generic, he understood that now.
Initially, he’d thought using shifter DNA as a base would make the werewolf transformation quicker and therefore more aggressive. He was right; it did make the turn quicker, but it provided no additional benefit otherwise. They were just regular werewolves after that so a bit of a disappointment.
He stopped outside the cage of a young man who’d been the test for a werewolf-elf hybrid.
Elves were an unusually cruel species, excellent marksmen, and highly intelligent. When these hybrids turned, they were more of a lithe, athletic werewolf rather than a scary, bulky mass most commonly seen, but they had a trick none of the other hybrids had—they could pull their own teeth out with little pain and then throw them, like a dart, lodging them in their victim’s necks. They could deliver the virus without ever being seen. These were a particular favourite of his experiments.
Maybe it was time for the next dozen to be released.