“Wha … What are you talking about?” Fear and uncertainty filled her voice. But deep down, she already knew.
“Seven days a week … twenty-four hours a day!”
“Oh, God!”
“That’s right!” he stood up and began emulating a game show host. “Beatrice Oglethorpe! You will soon become a Martian!” His voice was loud and pronounced, and he had a big salesman smile on his face. “When you arrive on Mars, you’ll go straight to a back-alley brothel! Here you get to fuck the rest of your life away for money, most of which your pimp or madam will get. But wait, there’s more! You’ll also have available to you every drug known to man, both organic and synthetic! It’s highly recommended you choose one or more to help you cope with what’s sure to be a miserable excuse of a life!”
“No!” she started sobbing again. “Ollie, please! Don’t do this! I love you!”
He could take no more, and his rage finally overtook him. “Liar!” he roared, his face red and contorted. He spun to face Gideon. “Shut that bitch up!”
Gideon simply smiled and held up the roll of duct tape, peeling out about a foot long piece.
“Be my pleasure!” he replied. “Women should be seen, not heard!”
***
What the hell is wrong with me? Stella wobbled on legs that seemed to be rapidly turning to jelly. She swooned and had to reach out with one hand to steady herself against the elevator wall. Her vision blurred, and she shook her head vigorously, trying to get her eyes to focus, but it was to no avail. It was all she could do not to just slide down the wall of the elevator and succumb to the sleep that seemed so intent on overtaking her. Yet, she was slowly losing the battle. Her body was no longer cooperating with what little willpower she had left. It was fast giving up the ghost. Her eyelids were growing heavy.
Just make it to the apartment … then I reckon a little nap wouldn’t be so bad …
She was ready to capitulate to the drugs coursing through her veins when the elevator door suddenly opened in front of her. She looked up through teary slits to see two gray-clad figures.
Grant and Seven stood at the entrance of the elevator. Both were wearing work coveralls that had the words ACME Appliances embroidered on their left breasts. Both wore dark shades, and Grant had a Yankees cap pulled down low over his forehead, the band touching the top of the glasses, effectively concealing much of his face. Behind him, Seven maneuvered a refrigerator along on a levitating dolly.
“Wha—” she slurred. “Hey! You can’t bring that in here … you’re supposed to use the freight eleva—” Her voice hung in her throat, and she froze in horror as Grant stepped in, and she saw his face for the first time. Even in her drug-addled state, she put it all together instantly. What the he— Animal man? Shit! The fox girl …
She went for her pistol. If she’d been in her right mind, alert and instinctive, she would’ve realized he’d already closed the distance too quickly. She would’ve forsaken the firearm and committed to close-quarters hand-to-hand combat. Still, even in her drugged state, she was able to clear the holster before Grant was on her. She squeezed off a pulse, just as the AnthroSplice grabbed her wrist, deflecting the shot. Still, it missed Seven’s head literally by the hair of his head. As he dove down, the laser beam burnt through his cap and into the car wall, leaving behind a streak of singed hair across his scalp.
“Goddamnit!” he screamed in pain as he huddled against the wall, rubbing his head. “Is every woman in this town gonna shoot me before I get outta this hellhole?”
In the meantime, Grant had knocked the pistol from Stella’s hand. Using the weight of his body, he slammed her hard against the wall.
“Get off me, ya mutt-faced bastard!” she snarled. “I’m a cop, you assho—! Mmmmmm!”
His hand covered her mouth as she raged. He continued to hold her against the wall, allowing her to expend her energy as the drugs claimed their victim. He felt her strength leaving her like air from a balloon. He put his mouth to her ear and whispered, “Shhhhh! Time to go night-night, Trooper Jones!”
She fought back, but it was a pitiful effort. Her exertions were sluggish now, almost nonexistent. She raised her arms to defend herself, to strike him, to claw at his face. But there was no strength in her limbs. He grinned, mocking her pathetic struggling.
“Go ahead,” he encouraged. “The more you fight, the quicker the drug takes effect.”
A tear of frustration rolled down her cheek, for she realized he was telling the truth. She felt herself fading fast. Still, even though it was evident she’d been drugged with something extremely debilitating, her pride hadn’t been weakened in the least. The first tentacles of fear began to creep into her, as she realized just how helpless she was. These … men … could do whatever they wanted to with her … and she … a cop … could do nothing to prevent it.
But why? Why her?
She felt her legs turning to jelly, felt herself start to slide down the wall. He sensed it immediately, scooping her up into his arms as if she were a sick child. By now, she was utterly helpless. Her arms simply fell
