"Many assignments where physical strength and stamina are essential. They are all trained in the art of warfare including tactical and strategy, physical hand-to-hand and martial arts combat, all weapons ranging from crossbows to sniper rifles. Of course, there is more."

"More?"

"Yes. Each metahuman is unique."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, for example, I have parties interested in purchasing anywhere from one to twelve trained metahumans. The subjects are too young to be distributed to their sponsors, but my investors have been so impressed with what they've seen thus far, they're willing to financially back their projects until the subjects' training has come to fruition."

"Let me put it bluntly, Dr. Williams," Professor Arkdone leaned forward and waited for his colleague to do the same before he continued. "I would like to know what assignments would best suit a metahuman."

"That depends on the metahuman."

"Elaborate."

"Yes, that's essentially what the serum does."

Professor Arkdone narrowed his gaze, beginning to tire of the game.

"Forgive me, sir," Kenneth shifted in his seat. "I mean the serum 'elaborates' the natural given talents of each individual metahuman. So, for example, you are a professor of psychology. Had you been dosed with the serum before the age of eight and survived the first week, you would have developed not only physically but intellectually as well. Your understanding of the human mind would have been...enhanced."

"So, if a subject who had a genetic predisposition toward telekinetics or telepathy were given your serum, they could become a very powerful tool in their investor's arsenal." The professor leaned back, his hand holding his chin thoughtfully, the handsome smile returning to his aristocratic face.

Kenneth Williams watched the professor with cunning and waited for him to speak.

"Yes, I can see how your program would be interesting to me, and I'm starting to imagine how my program could be of interest to you. However, allow me to feign ignorance. Please explain how you believe the Monarch Program could be of use to your work."

"I'm sure a brilliant mind like yours has already drawn the correct conclusion."

"Humor me."

"You do realize I have laid all my cards out on the table, and you haven't given me any more information about yourself than I already knew coming into this meeting." Williams shrugged innocently.

"I know of what I am capable. If you're looking for a collaboration of some sort, you must be willing to dispense with your reluctance toward being forthright with me."

Williams nodded, "I could say the same to you, sir. However, because I believe you to be a shrewd and discreet individual, I do not mind the current level of disclosure on my part."

"You have assassins right outside this room ready to kill me upon your signal. Am I correct?" Arkdone's voice was calm, calculating.

Williams casually placed his empty crystal tumbler on the mahogany table between them. "I have no more intent to kill you than you do me, should this conversation prove-fruitless."

Knowing smiles curled across both their faces.

"I like you, Dr. Williams." Arkdone nodded, watching Williams with a shrewd eye.

"The feeling is mutual, sir." Williams barely contained his excitement at their shared appreciation for evil.

"What is it you'd like to know about the Monarch Program?"

"Everything."

"Too vague. I could teach a class on the subject, were such a topic allowed at the University."

"All right, let's start at the beginning."

"Origins?"

"Yes."

"Some believe the origin of many Monarch Programming techniques used today began during occult rituals described in the Egyptian Book of the Dead written around 1500 BC," Donovan Arkdone began.

"Likely subjects?"

"The perfect subjects are from three to twelve-years-old and above average to exceptional intelligence. Like your metahumans, they can be male or female. We call them 'candidates'."

Kenneth Williams sat at the edge of his seat committing every word Arkdone spoke to memory while trying to think of how to word his next question.

"How are they programmed?"

"Ah, now that's a question that could take quite a while to answer," Arkdone reached for the half-empty bottle of Scotch and offered to fill Williams' tumbler. Williams politely shook his head. The professor shrugged and poured himself another tall glass of the golden liquid. He took a leisurely sip before continuing.

"How much detail do you want to know?" Arkdone asked.

"As much as time will allow for now. Later, I want to know all of it."

"Not everyone has the stomach for the vulgar details of my work."

"Not everyone has the stomach for the vulgar details of my work, either. I believe we can agree we're both exceptions to the rule." With that, Williams reached into his lab coat pocket and pulled out the two eyeballs and placed them carefully on the decorative silver platter in the center of their coffee table.

Arkdone leaned down to get a better look. He removed a royal blue Montblanc pen from his breast pocket and used it to roll the orbs. It only took a moment for him to realize what they were. "Nicely preserved," he commented, nodding his appreciation. There wasn't a hint of disgust or horror behind his steely gray eyes.

Williams grinned widely. I chose my partner well, he thought.

"Do I want to know to whom these belong?"

"A nobody."

"Good. As long as they didn't belong to your last business partner, I'm fine," Professor Arkdone smiled wickedly.

Williams laughed heartily at the professor's humor.

"So as for the methods-they are trauma based. Over the span of a few years, the candidate is systematically exposed to mind-shattering events. Often in the beginning, psychotropic drugs are used to help achieve the altered state of mind. The subject is forced to perform acts that go against everything they ever believed was right and good. They are forced to kill, maim, consume, witness and participate in any and every despicable, horrific, deplorable act ever thought up by the most sadistic human minds-the most deviant of whom are already on my payroll, of course."

"Impressive," Dr. Kenneth Williams was in awe. "I'd very much like to take a tour of your facility."

"In due time, I'm sure that could be arranged." The professor grinned handsomely.

"So, after your programmers have torn down the psyches of the candidates, then what?"

"That's where the programming is vital. Their minds have been shattered. They've experienced such horrible traumas, their minds split into multiple personalities. Each personality has a job to do to make it so the entire 'system' functions. That's why it is so vital we invest our time in only the most brilliant-minded subjects. Their intelligence gives their brains a certain malleability we need-an elasticity that allows these dissociative identities to coexist inside the same body."

"What happens if you were to use a subject of average intelligence?"

"What do you think would happen, doctor?"

"I imagine the shattering of their minds would leave them a puddle of useless flesh."

"Exactly."

"That has happened before?"

"Of course."

"And what do you do with those defective subjects?"

"They are used in the program as another means to traumatize those subjects who have survived the programming."

"Fascinating!"

"Yes, it truly is," Arkdone smiled with sick pride. "The subjects in trauma-based mind programming are specifically designed to have different personalities, none of whom allow themselves to be known to the core personality."

"How does that work?"

"Well, it's quite an intricate process, but through diligent training, a candidate is trained to respond to a code. The code is usually a certain phrase, but it could also be a song or a scent depending on what our client requests."

"Who are your clients?" Williams asked.

Arkdone raised a single brow at his companion. "We'll get to that later, Kenneth."

Williams smiled. He liked to hear the professor make plans that included him.

"As I was saying," Arkdone continued. "The candidates are programmed with a code, a trigger of sorts, that when activated, brings out the alter personality. That personality performs the given tasks without hesitation and without question. Another trigger word is in place to close the door to that personality, bringing the core back.

"Doesn't the 'core' as you put it, question the loss of time? The acquisition of injuries? The strange locations they must find themselves?"

"They are taught not to question those things. They have no memory of what happened while they were in the altered state and having been raised since they were children in this manner; they think it's completely normal to have gaps in their memories, cuts and bruises they have no recollection of receiving, different clothing styles in their closets, food in their refrigerator they don't remember buying. All these things are normal to our candidates. They have been trained to maintain elusive lifestyles. They have little or no interaction with others. They are completely managed by their masters."

"What happens if they're caught in the act of performing a duty?"

"They are all programmed to self-destruct if captured."

"Self-destruct? You mean commit suicide."

"Yes, of course."

"What a loss that would be."

"It has only happened a handful of times, but yes, to lose a well-trained candidate is definitely irksome to our clients. On the other hand, they never have to worry about them disclosing confidential information. Clients usually place an order for another candidate soon afterward. They become accustomed to having someone they can rely on without question who has certain-how shall I say it-skills."

"What sort of skills can your candidates acquire?"

"They are perfect assassins, but some clients prefer a seedier skill set. The adult film industry, for example, has many a Monarch in its employ."

"Hmm, yes well, that's not of interest to me," Williams restrained his urge to shudder.

"To each his own," Arkdone shrugged and tossed back another swig of the expensive Scotch like it was tap water.

"So that I'm sure we're on the same page, here are my thoughts," the doctor began.

"Okay, shoot," Arkdone's speech wasn't slurring yet, but his eyes were definitely glassier from the Scotch.

"Imagine a Monarch candidate who is also a metahuman."

Arkdone stopped swirling the last of the Scotch at the bottom of his glass and looked up at his new best friend.

"Absolutely brilliant, Dr. Williams. The possibilities are-infinite!"

"I was thinking the same thing." The doctor grinned widely as he reached down to pick up the eyeballs off the table and absently swirled them around in his hand. They were becoming beautifully fleshy and warm again. "Infinite."

Chapter 4 Rescue Me.

Just then the lights went out.

Meg instinctively dropped to her knees and squeezed the trigger, never missing the empath image of the soldiers in the room.

Pop, pop!

Her ears heard two bodies hit the floor just as a burst of light and a loud popping burst from the semiautomatic across the room.

Panic gripped her with two hands.

"Alik!" she screamed.

A sound of pounding, strong feet echoed in the corridor behind her and she turned in time to see two red glowing eyes. A vicious, guttural growl echoed across the floor, vibrating her to the core.

Maze? Her mind skipped to the illogical.

But it was. It had to be.

Even as her brain was trying to understand what was happening, she saw those angry red eyes stream across the room. His attack was intense, barking and ferocious in the faint moonlight trying to seep into the small window on the far side of the room.