Dreams were always a funny thing. In one way, they were a falsehood meant to perpetuate some old vision. In another, they were words of the mind that honestly told what was happening around them. Add cacophony and noise to the mix, then they’d ordinarily be strange.
Andrew’s was horrific.
He was sitting in that same padded room, but without the facade or voice of another person. No Doctor Myers, no straitjackets, and definitely no Captain Jacobs. He sat face to face with something.
Being a dream, there was no real way to picture a visual. If he did, then he’d just say nothing. But if he said what he felt, he’d say that he felt that he was near something that was far more powerful than anything he had encountered. It was that same feeling of the evil he felt in the bunker. This time, however, it was much more pronounced.
A feeling that he was looking at a usurper of kings. A stabber of friends. A bastard of families. A relisher of power wherever it could find it, this spirit always demanded more. Always more.
And I can give you more. All you must do is surrender yourself to me.
After seeing the power of the Beast of Wrath, how easily he could slaughter some of the best-trained soldiers, Andrew could understand the beast’s words. All caution shuddered as he remembered their pained faces. If only he had the same strength as the demons.
The last vessel was foolish. Do not be the same.
Whatever it was, it stretched out its hand like a handshake from the devil. One touch would be all it needed for a contract to be signed. Andrew could have all the power he’d ever want, and more, if he just clasped its hand–
“Nah,” a voice echoed, “I’m not letting you give another sales pitch.”
The world seemingly caved in on itself as the Beast’s presence suddenly disappeared. Replacing it all was a comfortable studio, a phonograph, and a cigarette that blew from a pair of red lips. “I hope you weren’t actually close to taking his offer already,” the voice chuckled.
Andrew found himself on the couch—red leather—while a silk-dressed woman sat across from him. She kissed the end of her cigarette as if it belonged to a lover. “You’re confused,” the woman said. “You recognize me.”
“What? How’d you–”
She pointed to his head with her painted-black nails. “I can read that little brain. You recognize me as a bartender from a nightclub called Dragon’s Den. Recent enough to be in your mind, but distant enough to be hazy. I suppose that makes sense, since this is still a dream.”
Andrew was taken aback. “It is?” He could see the room, smell the acrid air, feel the couch, and hear her words. If this was a dream, then it was a damn vivid one at that. “Are you a demon?” he finally asked.
She gave a wink—Andrew tasted a hint of flirtatiousness. “What do you think? A girl you find some attraction to, though didn’t personally interact with, reappears in your dream after interrupting your time with the Beast of Envy. Do I look like a demon?”
Andrew opened his mouth to speak.
She answered for him. “You don’t think I look like a demon. But neither did the Chief and neither did Emily.” Her words perfectly mirrored whatever thoughts were floating in Andrew’s mind. It was as if she were literally looking at his brain before he could even think it through. “You used to think that demons were all bloodthirsty monsters who could hardly think past carnage. You’re partially right. And partially one, yourself.”
That word made Andrew’s heart drop. He had known the truth a long time by now, and the Chief had only confirmed it. “Partially,” he mumbled. “Because I’m possessed by a demon.”
Smoke exited the woman’s lips. “The Beast of Envy.”
“But why?” Andrew begged. “Why me? I don’t think of myself as some kind of power-hungry bastard, and God knows I’ve met a couple of them. So why did the Beast choose me? And how long has it–”
Her laughter interrupted his train of thought. She smothered the cigarette into her hand before it vanished. “You have a billion questions, but you don’t even have a place to start. You’re like an impatient boy wanting to conquer the playground, you know that?”
Andrew restarted by taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I just don’t know if I have enough time to learn everything I can.”
“Time? We have plenty.” The young woman opened her arms; the silk sleeves draped over her fair body. “You’re in limbo, boy. If I wanted to, I could trap you here for a while. But I’m not a cruel bitch, no?”
Wow. That was surprisingly scary. “Can you just start explaining everything?”
***
In the year 2030, 2% of the world population suddenly transformed into demons. That was the guesswork statistic; the real number was probably higher. Even then, that’s more than a hundred million people—the world’s CDRs hadn’t finished killing a fraction of that many demons.
The reason: many of those demons still live among humans.
They ranged from low to high, from east to west. Though still in control of their minds and actions, they knew that a single word—a single call to the local CDRs—and they’d be another gore video on the internet. They kept their secrets, kept their lives, and kept their minds.
Worse yet, there would be no true end. If a possessed person was killed, the demon would just search for another host. In that hidden game of chance, there would never be a real end to the demon threats.
No cure. No exit. No recovery. The only seeming end was when someone eventually lost their minds, fully transformed, and found themselves incinerated by a CDR grenade. Being possessed was like being diseased with a condition nobody could see—until it was too late.
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As such, most possessed people never wanted anything to do with a spotlight. Celebrities disappeared overnight, as they realized their hidden madness was nothing to be proud of. Politicians did the same. There was only one group that wanted to temper with the world.
The Pentagramists.
With their objective being the control of the strongest demons, the Seven Beasts, they used whatever powers they needed to achieve this end. If they managed to do this, who knows if the world could ever be safe. Those demons were no ordinary monsters, but the champions of evil.
The Beast of Wrath: an affinity for rage.
The Beast of Gluttony: strength through consumption.
The Beast of Greed: mastery over material.
The Beast of Sloth: architect of petrification.
The Beast of Lust: puppetmaster of men.
The Beast of Envy: seeker of power.
The Beast of Pride: a king of all sin.
While each incarnation of the beast could yield different but equally catastrophic results, an ultimate coalition would be devastating for the world. An alliance of evil. No light would be spared from the darkness.
***
The woman finished her speech before lighting another cigarette. She seemed so carefree, despite such impending doom. “They’ve been trying to recruit possessed people recently,” she calmly added. “Who knows if that gambit will pay off.”
Andrew didn’t know what to say. All of his previous notions about the demons had either been completely wrong, or skewed to the point of incorrectness. He thought about how he used to think that the only good demon was a dead one—a hard thought, considering that he was one.
But worse yet, the CDRs had been fighting a war they could’ve never won: each demon would always find reincarnation. That meant Wade, Smith, Kang, Gutierrez, Singh, and the Sergeant died for nothing. For such Goliaths, David could’ve never been enough.
“My God, the Pentagramists could actually win,” Andrew whispered. “They’ve got men in the police, the CDRs, and whatever government is in New Changan. It all seems so hopeless.” He paused for a second, asking the same question that plagued his mind. “Is that why you came to my dream? To recruit me to fight against them?”
She puffed her cigarette. “Hell no. I want nothing to do with a fight.”
“What? But you just said–”
“Yeah, I said what I said,” the woman yawned. Even her rejecting hand had a flaunt of beauty. “The Pentagramists have their agenda; I have mine. So long as they don’t interfere with my world, I don’t interfere with theirs.”
“Then why are you in my dream?”
“Oh, I’m in your dream because I understand how confusing it is to be seemingly reborn with a completely new body of power,” the woman calmly replied. “Besides, I think you're kinda cute.”
Andrew was appalled. This woman seemed to hold so much power, yet she limited it all down to plain selfishness and laziness. “Are you possessed by the Beast of Sloth? Is that why you want nothing to do with this?”
“Beast of Lust,” she corrected. “And I can read your mind; laziness is my own personality. It’s about time you start thinking with yours.”
“Explain.”
The woman chuckled as she puffed some more air into his face. “Don’t you get it? There’s no more CDR for you to join. You’re long gone, as far as they know. Before you know it, you’ll be free.” Her smile was the allure, as was the pleasure of hearing her words. “It’ll be your life now. Even if it’s shared by a demon.”
Andrew wanted to believe that. But even if he wanted some care-free lifestyle of moving to the Bahamas and drinking spiked tea, he was still held hostage by the Pentagramists. It wouldn’t be long before they came up with some crazy torture cycle or–
“Or what?” the woman interrupted.
Oops. Andrew forgot she could read his thoughts.
Suddenly, a wall-clock sprouted out and rang with a bell. Even though the hands were spinning impossibly fast, the woman seemed to understand what it was saying. “Well, it was nice to see you. But right now, you’re being woken up,” she said. “I’ll see you later, pretty boy.”
***
Andrew felt groggy as hell. His eyes could barely open as his ears rang. He was strapped to a gurney, but somehow sideways as it had been tipped to the side. Looking around, he seemed to be in the back of some capsized ambulance—a converted one, at least.
“Shit! She’s over there!” a man yelled outside.
A burst, and that same man gurgled out.
It felt like a dream; Andrew was still flickering in and out of reality. One moment, his eyes were open. The next, they weren’t. He had been injected with enough sedative to kill a horse—at least that’s how he felt.
A figure wearing a gas mask and a police uniform opened the damaged hatch. They had their gun initially trained on Andrew, before they eventually lowered the muzzle. The stranger unhooked the restraints, and pulled Andrew out of the vehicle.
Blink.
He was dragged to a different car, where he was put in the backseat.
Blink.
A walkie-talkie came on. “Damn it! Get back here before they find you!”
Blink.
The figure removed her mask, revealing pretty eyes that looked at the rear-view mirror. “I found the guy, but he’s in rough shape. I think I can take him to a hospital.”
“You don’t understand; they’re saying he’s a fucking demon! Even if you don’t believe that bullshit, they’ll shoot you if they see you driving back with–”
She had enough. One hit was all it took to bash out the radio before throwing it out the window. Afterwards, she grabbed something inside the front—it seemed like a tracker—and threw it out as well.
Blink.
***
By the time Andrew regained a decent level of consciousness, he found himself in some cheap inn that reeked of bleach and incense. The TV was on, as was the shower. It didn’t take a genius to assume his rescuer, or captor, was taking a quick wash.
Andrew had always hated television, but this was probably the first time it actually had some important information.
“We come here with breaking news. Yesterday, at two in the morning, CDR teams were dispatched on an anti-Pentagramist raid gone wrong. By our most accurate count, there has been a devastating count of CDR casualties: 20 dead, 3 injured, and 1 captured. All four CDR teams have been wiped out.
“Although Chief Williams was not available for interviews, Captain Jacobs was willing to give a public statement.”
Andrew saw that piece-of-shit captain stand on a podium, like he was some kind of hero. Cameras flashed as officers barely kept the fiery crowd in order. One tap of the mic, and Captain Jacobs silenced everyone.
“People of New Changan. Our greatest civil servants, the CDRs, have been attacked to a devastating degree by an insider threat. It has now come to my attention that captured officer Andrew Cheng was, in fact, a member of the Pentagramists.”
So, this was how Captain Jacobs wanted to declare war. Anger burned in Andrew’s fists as he stared at the bald fucker on the screen. The same man who had been responsible for countless deaths, only to use Andrew as a scapegoat.
“Rest assured that we will do everything to eliminate the Pentagramist threat. We will put them, Andrew Cheng, and all people who wish ill will on humanity and New Changan. If that is you, I would like to tell you this: we will rout you from your walls and smash you where you stand.”
If those bastards wanted war, Andrew was gonna show them war.