They were everywhere and they were nowhere: demons, ghosts, victims of Aristide's unholy experiments. Whatever they were mattered very little to Sergeant Michael Becket as he pushed through a chain-link fence and hurried after the naked woman taunting him with her long black hair and flawless figure. To him they were mere impediments, nuisances keeping him from what he desired most.
He slid to a stop, firing at a transparent specter that vanished in a swirl of plasma, and slapped the light on the end of his weapon. It wouldn't stop flickering, and the darkness seemed to take on a life of its own as it slowly enveloped him.
Becket shook his head, trying desperately not to focus on his growing unease, but always in the back of his mind was one question: What the hell was wrong with him? That woman, that creature, had murdered half his unit. Yet here he was, risking everything to be with her.
His comm crackled to life, breaking into his thoughts, and an image of Keegan appeared in his HUD.
"Becket," the frazzled man grunted. "Where the hell are you?"
He was low on ammunition in the basement of Wade Elementary, that's where he fucking was.
"You're close to the common," Keegan said. "Get moving. Stokes is in trouble; Armacham mercs everywhere!"
That got Becket's attention. He took his eyes off the end of the hallway, and what he was sure was Alma Wade, and focused on the static-filled image of Keegan.
What the hell was Stokes thinking? She was supposed to be supporting Keegan, not running around on her own. She knew better than to leave a wounded comrade without back-up.
"Becket man, fuck if I know. She started babbling about a woman and her kids and just took off. Radioed me for help not thirty-seconds ago." Keegan paused for a pained breath. "It's up to you, buddy. Get moving. We can't afford to lose her."
The transmission ended and the lights came on. The specters were gone, the cavernous halls silent. Becket was free to save Stokes.
Minutes later, having put down teams of Armacham mercs in groups of two, three, and four, he burst from a burning elevator and put his sights on the double doors directly in front of him. The common was just beyond.
His comm crackled. Stokes' fragmented image appeared before him.
"Becket?" she whispered. "Becket, can you hear me?" She sounded alarmed, but not frightened. Almost curious.
Becket crouched behind an overturned desk and put a hand to his ear. What the hell was going? Why wasn't she with Keegan?
"I--I can't explain it, Becket. She was calling to me, in my head, and I couldn't--"
The lights flickered, and for one heart-stopping moment Becket's HUD shorted out.
"It's her!" Stokes gasped. "Alma's here! She's here, right now!" A burst of static. "She's killing them, Becket, killing everyone! Oh, my god!"
More static. Becket tapped his earpiece.
"She's looking right at me! Now she's calling to me! Christ Becket...she's so beautiful. Sad but beautiful. I have to--"
The transmission ended.
Becket adjusted the receiver and gave her a few seconds to reconnect before breaking cover and hauling ass. She was only yards away: if he could reach her in time there was a chance he might distract Alma long enough for her to escape. It was their only chance. Even with Stokes at his side, fighting something so powerful was simply out of the question.
He was close enough now that he could hear Stokes without the comm. "Alma," she moaned. "Alma--"
Becket burst through the double doors and rolled, coming to his feet behind a pillar of thick red brick. The air was charged, smelling faintly of sulfur, and dark gray clouds swirled overhead. Becket pressed his back to the pillar, took a deep breath, then very slowly poked his head out.
He was so shocked by what he saw that he nearly squeezed the trigger on his rifle.
Lieutenant Kiera Stokes, the woman he had longed for since she joined the team as their communications liaison, stood naked from head to toe on the opposite side of the common. Dark-blonde hair pulled back in a thick braid, her body tight, tanned, and curvy in all the right places, she was perfection in female form. Yet the first thing Becket noticed, his mouth suddenly dry, was not her shaved pubic mound or heaving breasts, but her stunning blue eyes.
Alma waited for her at the center of the common: long black hair fluttering in the wind, her own incredible body on full display. Becket tore his attention from Stokes to study the supernatural beauty--his gaze lingering over the pale but curvaceous figure, large breasts, and smooth pubic mound--and found himself at a loss for words when it came to describing her. With her carefree manner and pouty, almost bee-stung lips, she reminded him somewhat of Angelina Jolie, the actress whose posters adorned his bedroom walls. But that didn't quite convey the sheer power that seemed to flow out with every breath, or the overwhelming magnetism that left Becket ready to put down his life to protect her.
"Becket," Keegan crackled. "What's happening? Have you located Stokes? Becket!"
Alma turned her head and looked directly at him. Becket quickly switched off his comm and tightened his grip on his rifle. Her vacant stare was almost hypnotic.
Stokes, breasts jiggling, hips swaying, stepped down and slowly closed the distance between her and Alma. Her beautiful eyes found Becket, and remained locked on his face even as she put her arms around the pale woman's slender waist and began to kiss her neck. She uttered a soft moan before running her tongue over Alma's pale flesh.
Becket, his cock twitching, was forced to stifle a terrific groan.
Stokes slid a hand up Alma's flat belly and fondled her breast. She circled a fingertip around the hard nipple, moaning more and more the longer she remained in contact with the ghostly beauty, and seemed almost on the verge of losing control. There was no change in Alma's expression.
Stokes shuffled around and filled her mouth with Alma's creamy breast, flicking the nipple with her tongue and gently tugging it between her teeth. She squeezed its mate as she worked, leaning over to give it an occasional kiss and lick. Alma didn't move, didn't make a sound. She stared at Becket, pouty lips pursed, and silently taunted him.
Stokes pulled away from her new lover and stood up straight and tall. She looked into Alma's eyes, one obscured by silky black hair, and ran a hand down the front of the woman's body. She moaned pathetically as she caressed soft flesh and eventually found a sopping-wet pussy. That finally got a reaction out of Alma, and she turned her attention to Stokes while the beautiful blonde stroked her juicy vulva.
A bright light exploded in the sky above.
Becket fell back, his head bouncing off the concrete, and found himself suddenly staring at bright overhead lights. He sat up, temples pounding, and watched as across a sterile room Alma, her eyes blindfolded, was orally pleasured by a thirty-something Genevieve Aristide. Both seemed to take great pleasure from it.
The image faded away. Becket opened his eyes to see whirling clouds and a gray sky. He took a moment to gather himself, then sat up and immediately began to question his sanity.
Stokes and Alma were floating at least six feet in the air, their bare crotches pressed tightly together. Alma was her usual unflappable self, but Stokes was covered in a sheet of sweat, her hair loose and damp as she ground her pussy against Alma's.
