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AM NOT HUMAN (part one)
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chapter 6
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infinity stars entertainment
Home
BOOKS
HORROR STORIES
FANTASY
SCI-FI
AM NOT HUMAN (part one)
chapter one
chapter two
CHANGE AGENT
Chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9 and 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
Chapter13
Chapter14
chapter 15
COMEDIES
MEMES
JOKES
INFINITY STARS COMEDIES
MOVIES
COMICS
INFINITE MOTIVATIONS
INVENTIONS
BLOGS
SHOP
ABOUT US
CONTACT US
TERMS OF SERVICES
PRIVACY POLICY
DISCLAIMER
More
Home
BOOKS
HORROR STORIES
FANTASY
SCI-FI
AM NOT HUMAN (part one)
chapter one
chapter two
CHANGE AGENT
Chapter 1
chapter 2
chapter 3
chapter 4
chapter 5
chapter 6
chapter 7
chapter 8
chapter 9 and 10
chapter 11
chapter 12
Chapter13
Chapter14
chapter 15
COMEDIES
MEMES
JOKES
INFINITY STARS COMEDIES
MOVIES
COMICS
INFINITE MOTIVATIONS
INVENTIONS
BLOGS
SHOP
ABOUT US
CONTACT US
TERMS OF SERVICES
PRIVACY POLICY
DISCLAIMER
chapter eight
Inspector Belanger, Sergeant Yi, and Dr. Chaudhri stood in a radiology lab,
examining a wall of virtual medical imagery on an AR layer shared through
their LFP glasses. Floating before them were X-rays, 3D scans of bone structure,
dental records, MRIs.
“Why didn’t you confirm the patient’s identity before contacting Durand’s
wife?”
Dr. Chaudhri cast an annoyed look Belanger’s way. “I had no way of
knowing who this man was. Not even the police could identify him.”
Yi interceded. “She’s right, Claire. The SPF must have gotten their samples
mixed up. I came here last month hoping this guy was Ken—been to every
hospital and morgue in Singapore and Johor a dozen times. City police gave me
his DNA profile. I ran it through CODIS. No matches.”
Belanger thought out loud. “And today—”
“I watched Dr. Chaudhri draw two different blood samples. Ran the
GlobalFiler assay myself, and the DNA profiles were both perfect matches for
Wyckes. I nearly fell over. The first test had to be a lab mix-up.”
Belanger mused, “And the only reason we’re here is because he claimed to
be Ken. Wyckes called us here himself.”
Yi shrugged. “Strange, isn’t it? For Wyckes to do that.”
“There must be some reason.” Belanger held up her hands. “Apologies for
my ill temper, Dr. Chaudhri. But our missing agent’s wife and daughter are more
traumatized than ever by your call. I’ll need to go see them.”
Yi turned to Belanger. “Claire, what was all that about in there? Why is
Wyckes trying to convince us he’s Ken?”
The doctor folded her arms. “Could be psychosis. The man did suffer
swelling of his brain. Did he know your missing agent?”
Belanger said grimly, “He knew of him.”
Yi studied the medical imagery. “But how does he know all that personal
stuff about Ken? And about us?”
“The Huli jing were clearly planning their abduction of Ken for some time.
“The Huli jing were clearly planning their abduction of Ken for some time.
We must assume they have the entire GCD team under close surveillance.”
Yi frowned. “But even Ken’s mannerisms, Claire. The way Wyckes talked.
It’s so much like Ken.”
Belanger grabbed Yi by the shoulders. “Michael, I need you to function. I
know you’re hurting about Ken. So am I. But to think that the man in that
hospital bed is Ken is not rational.”
“It isn’t . . .” Yi looked to both Chaudhri and Belanger. “Right? I mean, fullgrown people can’t be edited.”
Belanger shook her head. “Modifying the genetic sequence of the thirty-five
trillion cells that comprise a living, breathing human being—it isn’t possible.
You’d kill the person.”
Dr. Chaudhri nodded. “Retroviruses modify the DNA of living cells, but
only to replicate the virus. Even that small degree of editing can kill the host.
The human immune response is—”
“This subject isn’t worth discussing. What we need to figure out is why
Marcus Wyckes is in that hospital bed. And how it relates to Ken’s
disappearance.”
Yi nodded reluctantly. “Wyckes was puffed up like a dead whale when I
came here last month—like his body was fighting off some type of poison.”
“And poison is the preferred weapon of the Huli jing,” Belanger mused.
“Maybe Wyckes got an accidental dose. This was around the same time Ken
disappeared. Inspector Marcotte said even microscopic doses could be fatal.
Maybe it damaged Wyckes’s memory somehow.”
Dr. Chaudhri instantiated a virtual lab report for their review. “We
considered biotoxins. Didn’t find any—although there were trace amounts of
XNA in the initial toxicology report, which was strange. They didn’t appear in
subsequent tests.”
“Synthetic DNA.”
“Right. Since XNA doesn’t interact with normal cells, it’s sometimes used as
a delivery mechanism for printed narcotics, date rape drugs, nanomachines—but
it doesn’t make much sense for a poison. If you’re trying to kill someone, you’re
not worried about preventing an immune reaction.”
Belanger pondered the situation. “There’s something here we’re not seeing.”
Yi examined the lab report. “Is there anything else that might help us,
Doctor? Anything you haven’t already told us?”
Dr. Chaudhri thought for a moment, then looked up. “The patient’s caloric
needs while he was in his coma.”
needs while he was in his coma.”
“What about them?”
“After a few weeks he was burning more calories than an Olympic athlete.
At one point he was getting nine thousand calories a day in his drip. I’ve never
seen anything like it. It was almost impossible to keep him hydrated, and his
fever was close to fatal. His body was literally burning itself up.”
• • •
Durand lay wide-awake in the private room, the door closed. Each time he moved,
the handcuff chain rattled. This was a waking nightmare.
With his free hand he picked up the Interpol Red Notice still lying in his lap
and studied it. DNA ladders, physical description, criminal history, extradition
info—and a color computer model of a bald-headed, thick-necked Eurasian man.
An insane fear began to form in Durand’s mind. The reaction of Yi and
Belanger to him. Their insistence that he was Wyckes. Durand lay numbly for
several moments, his heart beating faster.
Durand shouted at the top of his lungs: “Nurse!”
A nurse did not immediately appear, so he found the call button and pressed
it with his bandaged fingers.
After a few moments an unfamiliar Caucasian male nurse opened the door
and poked his head in.
Durand spoke, emotionless. “I need a mirror.”
“I can’t give you any hard objects.”
“I want to see myself. I need to see my face.”
“I can’t give you—”
“Then you hold the mirror. Please. I need to see my face. I need to know I’m
okay.”
“It’s just bruising, sir.”
“I need to see my face. Please!”
Something about the desperation in Durand’s voice caused the nurse to nod.
He left and after a minute or two returned with a round, polished metal mirror
with dull edges.
The nurse moved along the left edge of the bed, on the side opposite of
where Durand’s hand was cuffed to the rail. The nurse remained out of reach as
he raised the mirror up to Durand at head level.
“See? It’s just bruising. You’ll look fine in a week or so.”
Durand took a deep breath and looked up into the stainless-steel reflection of
Durand took a deep breath and looked up into the stainless-steel reflection of
his face.
What he saw there drove him insane.
The face in the reflection was not his own. Not even close. His cheekbones
were different. His nose, his neck, and his jaw—all different. It was more than
plastic surgery could ever change. Even his race was different—no longer
Caucasian but Eurasian. The shape of his eyes and his eye color—though still
bloodshot red—was different. Instead of blue, his eyes were now brown.
He was without doubt the Marcus Wyckes in the photo on the Red Notice.
Durand started hyperventilating, and then he shrieked in anguish.
“Sir! Sir!”
“What have you done to me!” Durand felt his adrenaline surging. He looked
down at the catheter extending into his groin and took a deep breath.
He began to carefully pull it out, screaming against the pain. He got splashed
briefly as the tube fell away from the bed.
“Sir! Stop!” The nurse smacked an alert button on the wall. “I need help in
here!”
Durand was already clawing at the bandages holding his IV in place on the
back of his hand. He screamed again in anguish as he pulled out the IV needle,
toppling the IV stand.
“What have you done!”
Just then Durand noticed dark, curving lines had begun to appear on the
surface of his bruised arms in several places, lengthening as though some
mysterious force was writing on his skin with ink. He turned his arms over,
staring at them in horror.
Elaborate tattoos began appearing up and down his arms. Chief among them
was the nine-tailed fox of the Huli jing just now solidifying on his right forearm,
with Asian script and a stylized trefoil knot on his left arm. It was as though they
had floated to the surface from within him.
Several orderlies and a male doctor rushed in. They came to a full stop as
they beheld him in shock.
Durand screamed, holding up his arms. “What have you done!”
The nurse pointed. “Those weren’t there—”
Durand shouted, “What have you done to me!”
The doctor motioned to the orderlies. “Strap him down.”
Durand screamed again and again. “What have you done to me? What have
you done!”
The orderlies swarmed him.
Durand struggled as they grabbed his arms.
Durand struggled as they grabbed his arms.
More orderlies arrived to help get Durand under control.
“What have you done!”
• • •
Back in the radiology lab, Dr. Chaudhri pointed. “What’s going on there?”
Belanger and Yi followed the doctor’s gaze toward a bank of virtual
surveillance screens—one for each bed in the ward. Belanger expanded the
screen where Wyckes wrestled silently with orderlies as they strapped him
down. At the screen’s edge a doctor prepared a sedative.
Belanger pointed to the elaborate, curving tattoo lines that now ran along
Wyckes’s neck, across his bald head and his arms. “Gang tattoos?”
Yi examined the surveillance image. “Where did they come from?”
“It appears Inspector Marcotte was wrong. The Huli jing are using some new
type of tattoo to identify their members.”
Yi nodded numbly.
Belanger turned to him. “Do you still doubt this is Marcus Wyckes?”
Yi gazed at the violent struggle on-screen. He hesitated—but then threw up
his hands in frustration. “I still don’t understand how Wyckes knew some of the
private things he mentioned in there. He knew about a conversation Ken and I
had before my wedding.”
Belanger put a hand on Yi’s shoulder. “Michael.”
“You think they tortured Ken.”
“I’m hopeful we can still find him. What I don’t understand is why the
leader of the Huli jing would come to Singapore in the first place. Wyckes is
wanted in a hundred and ninety countries. Singapore has extradition, ubiquitous
surveillance, a highly trained police force. There are a million safer places for
Wyckes to be.”
Yi tried to control his emotions—to concentrate on the case. “He doesn’t
seem so happy to be here now.”
On the room monitor orderlies finished strapping Wyckes down. A doctor
administered a sedative. Wyckes looked to be convulsed with sobs.
“Call in the Singapore police, Michael. Let’s get this man into custody. And
contact Inspector Marcotte. Tell her that Ken Durand found her man after all.”
Yi pondered the surveillance image for several moments, then nodded to
Belanger.
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