“They could have repositioned to another island,” Souza suggested. “They’re probably maintaining radio silence to prevent the New Gods from finding them.”
“Lemke’s a smart man,” Ringgold said, trying to reassure herself as much as the others. “He’ll have found a way to survive.”
Cornelius nodded. “I hope so.”
“How about Los Alamos?” Ringgold asked. She had kept the science team’s report about OrgoProct and Charles Morgan close at hand, wondering if they had been right. That maybe the New Gods were based in New Mexico instead of Nevada after all.
“You can see the latest images we took of Los Alamos,” Souza said, showing the National Laboratory. “We haven’t seen any signs of activity there. It looks just as it did when it fell during the Great War.”
Ringgold withheld the curses begging to be let out. “Then where in the hell is this Prophet? How are these monsters spying on us and we can’t even figure out where they’re keeping all their forces?”
No one had answers.
“Madam President,” one of the younger comms officers said, his voice excited. “I’m getting an incoming transmission. It seems to be coming from a computer that belongs to the Centcom facilities.”
“From Puerto Rico?” Ringgold asked.
“I’m not sure,” he said. “It’s on our encrypted lines with the right machine ID, but I can’t geolocate the signal.”
“Put it through.”
The comms officer accepted the transmission. “It’s… it’s a video.”
“Let’s see,” Ringgold said.
The video replaced the views from the flyover. It showed an auditorium with red webbing stretched over the seating. Two hulking masterminds were positioned on either side of the stage. Between them was what looked to be a throne made of red organic webbing.
“What in the hell is this?” Ringgold asked.
“I don’t know,” the comms officer said. “But I do know this is a recording. That’s all I can say for sure.”
A figure strode to the center of the stage wearing a dark cloak. His fingers ended in hooked claws, and his face was a patchwork of scars. His nostrils were little more than slits above his wormy lips and pointed teeth.
When his golden eyes locked onto the camera, a chill snaked down Ringgold’s spine. She could almost sense the creature’s intelligence seeping through the image on the screen.
“That’s… a Chimera,” General Vance said.
The beast sat on his throne, clawed fingers clenching into the red vines of its armrest.
“This message is for President Jan Ringgold,” the Chimera said in a gravelly voice. “I am Prophet Azrael, the leader of the New Gods you have failed to defeat.”
Ringgold stared at her mortal enemy. Evil radiated from the eyes of the monstrosity. He was responsible for so much death and devastation.
“Las Vegas was not your only loss last night,” Azrael continued. “Your foolish attempts to establish a foothold in Puerto Rico were an absolute disgrace. We took the island from your pitiful forces in a matter of hours. I want to show you just how easy that was for us.”
The video went black, before coming back online to a view of the streets of Old San Juan. Once colorful buildings with colonial architecture were pocked with bullet holes. The camera followed a group of collaborators who were advancing through the streets trailing a pack of Thrall Variants.
Sporadic gunfire sounded in the distance. The monsters surged forward, pouncing through windows and doorways. Some pulled human soldiers out of buildings, tearing the poor souls apart or dragging them away.
The camera view shifted to another angle. Three helicopters soared above the collaborators, spitting gunfire into the Thrall Variants. Suddenly light flared from neighboring buildings.
LAW rockets punched into the choppers. They exploded and spun out of control, slamming into buildings and the street.
The video showed other equally horrifying scenes.
More small seacraft drawing close to the San Juan port, unloading monsters and collaborators that overwhelmed the Allied States vessels docked there. Variants with webbed hands and feet emerged from the waves, scaling the sides of Allied States naval vessels.
Ringgold had prayed that Vice President Lemke and the First Fleet had somehow survived. That maybe Souza was right, and they were hiding out now, biding their time. But the silence from Puerto Rico had inspired all manner of nightmarish thoughts.
This video showed those thoughts were accurate.
After what seemed like an agonizing eternity, the video switched back to Azrael.
This time, a line of Scions stood on the stage with him. One Scion with a broken human skull as a mask held a hostage who wore a black cloth hood tied over his head.
“The weapons your government created started this, and I will finish it,” Azrael said.
With a snap of his clawed hands, the Chimera with the macabre mask tore off the hood from the hostage’s head.
Ringgold gasped at the sight of her vice president.
“Son of a bitch,” Cornelius said, balling his fists.
Bruised and beaten, Lemke stood on the stage next to the Chimera. His hands were tied together by a rope and another cloth was pressed into his mouth as a gag. Blood dripped from cuts along the side of his face.
Azrael stood from his throne and strode to Lemke’s side. He used one claw to slowly peel away the flesh along one of his arms.
Lemke yelled in agony, his cries distorted by the cloth in his mouth. The Chimera guarding him held him upright, preventing him from backing away as Azrael flayed the man alive.
Ringgold wanted to look away, but she couldn’t bring herself to do so. Part of her kept hoping that Team Ghost would show up and save him.
This was no old action movie, though. There was no saving him from these abominations.
Azrael turned toward the camera.
“I am pleased for you to witness the pain I can inflict. This is just a glimpse at what is to come,” he said. “All because you have arrogantly tried to dethrone me. You heretics must learn. We will not hesitate to punish each and every one of your insolent followers.”
He tore the gag from Lemke’s mouth.
“Don’t give in to
