I’ll make it simple… There are things that crawl from graves. Shadows that move; craving blood. Howls and screams under a full moon and yes, something inside the closet and under your bed. It’s all real. The things you call “monsters” exist and they kill people. But I kill monsters. My name is Jonathan Portray – people who know what I do call me the Parannihilator. There’s my sister Nancy and our NSA liaison Andrews. We’ve got resources. We’ve got weapons. We’ve got body armor. But the monsters? They have the numbers. The Portray Protocols: “…Better to Fail…” EXCERPT The building was mostly glass. Darkened glass woven between steel support and frames. Several figures, security personnel, moved about its perimeter. Communications were checked and assault rifles were kept body close. White lights burned bright outside the perimeter, illuminating the structure like a pearl glistening in the dark maw of the night. The field around the building gave a perfect backdrop of absolute darkness. It was quiet. And warm. “How are we doing on two through eight?” The man asked. He wore a white coat down to his ankles. A digital tablet in one hand, he leaned over a woman looking upon monitors. He had a receding hairline and squinted at flat screen readouts. “Everything is in line,” she reported, cloaked in laboratory white as well. “This is a successful batch.” In the room, there were massive banks of computer servers with blinking green and amber lights. Beyond those computers were glass walls and outside those were obscured banks of rectangular shapes. Other scientists filled the room and continued their individual yet collective work. Outside, a guard moved and froze, checking the perimeter. He moved to a point of the building’s landscape. Looked from one side to the other and turned. Two hands came from behind him. One set on the jaw and one on the top of the sentry’s head. A dry snap cracked in the summer air. “He’ll be pleased with this production line. We’ve removed a lot of the design flaws. We did keep in the unique identifiers as specified.” The woman beamed with a wide smile. She was proud of her work. The older man nodded and turned as a doorway hissed behind him. The doctor’s jaw tightened. His brow furrowed. “No one,” he began angrily, “Is supposed to be ---“ The man stood before the closing doorway. A gun shined in the overhead florescent lighting. Wide eyes and an opened mouth crept onto the scientist’s face. A quick tap and the man flew back, slamming into a console near his female subordinate. There was red spreading across the front of his coat. The room buzzed suddenly. “Oh my God!! Doctor Eagar!!!!” a remaining scientist screamed out. “BREACH!” “SECURITY BREACH!!!” Fingers pressed security buttons rapidly. However, no sounds broke the air. Save for another tap. A hole popped into the forehead of a bleeding man running to the stair’s top. The dark clothed figure moved through the room executing; he placed red holes in white lab coat after white lab coat. The dark figure moved. Stilled bodies occupied the room. The killer dropped the gun. Its status ejected and empty. A backpack slid from shoulder strips. It zipped open and a keypad showed underneath. Buttons pressed and the goggled shadow stood. The goggles shifted and reflected the glass walls behind the servers. The form moved to the windows and placed one hand out, palm flat against the obscured rectangular rows. Moments later, one lone form moved in the shadow of the facility that still buzzed with alarms. Not a single person was moving outside nor within now. The structure was behind the figure, as it walked into the darkened fields. The night was quiet until the lab erupted in flames. # Cherry orbs and blinding white lights covered the night in strobe flashes. Huge plumes of smoke filled the early dawning air. If the sun was coming up, the dark clouds reaching up from the still-burning installation would cover it
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like sack cloth. Figures in black suits and others in yellow striped uniforms held hoses pouring water in flailing drapes of vain attempt. Fire raged about the few remaining constructions of the laboratory. “Fan out. Be careful, this structure is still unstable.” Andrews stood at the edge of the crater. The NSA agent wore an assault uniform. In these early hours of the morning, he had traded pin-stripes and ties for Kevlar and ammo pouches. Jamie Avila and Soo Pei “Sophia” Watasaki descended the collapsible ladder. The several first encounter agents were below them, sweeping the dark underbelly of the science structure with H & K submachine guns and probing flashlights. Avila focused momentarily on the necklace under Avila’s Kevlar vest. La Virgen touched browned skin. Watasaki remembered what her teammate had taught her about faith. She found the Berretta in her gloved hand to be a healthy start to believing. “Sir, ma’ am…” called back a figure in black uniform and helmeted face. “There’s an opening registering underneath us. A large opening. Possibly a room.” Jaime nodded to the almond eyed teammate. “Let’s check it out.”
The Texan waved his flashlight over the room just beyond him. “Dios,” said Agent Avila. “Jaime, what is it?” “It looks like…like a nursery.” Before the young latino agent, there were rows of clear containers. Each with an infant inside. A stilled infant. Some of the rows were incomplete. Some were halved by fallen debris from the explosion. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. Andrews spoke into his collar-mike. “Status, Avila?!?” “From the looks of it, sir, there are no survivors. There are five rows with ten children each. Some of the rows are imcomplete.” Debris from the ceiling had broken the infantile ranks. In a few locations, grips of the explosion had overtaken the new life leaving a darkened pattern in its place. Sophia moved onto the first row with several of her team. “We’ll start cataloging.” “I have one Caucasian male. Approximately two days old. Brown hair….” A gloved finger moved, snapping a penlight into place. “Brown eyes. One distinguishing mark – a dark circle on his left shoulder. Birthmark.” “Next I have another caucasian male. Approximately two days old. Brown hair. Brown eyes. One distinguishing mark? A dark circle on the left shoulder.” Avila lifted up and looked at the other agents in the room. “Twins?” spoke a woman jotting down notes. Jaime shrugged. “Maybe so. I’ll keep on going.” “White child. Brown hair. Brown eyes. Dark circle.” He moved to another. Then another. He stopped. Andrews was directing crews on additional entry into the bombed site. “SIR!” “Go ahead, Avila. What is it?” “You need to see this.” “Jaime, what is it?” “The babies, sir. They’re all the same. Exactly the same.” “Exactly, agent?” “Yes sir. These aren’t babies, sir….” Andrews looked out at the nursery. “These are clones.”
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