“My contact says they're doing genetic research on the Deep Ones, Jonathan. That has to be a bad idea. That has to be the worst idea I've heard in years. I don't handle that sort of thing. You know that. I'm strictly ghosts and demonic possession.”
Crowley bit back a few comments regarding what Parsons called work. “Are you asking me to look into this, Jacob?”
“Yeah. Yes I am.” The man sounded relieved.
“So go have a nice day. I'll look into it. Tell your wife I said hi.” He killed the call.
Parson's wife was another story. She actually had a modicum of talent. She was also deeply distracting in the best possible way, which was yet another reason Crowley avoided the two of them.
All of which came down to another busy day in the life of Jonathan Crowley.
Currently that day was getting very stormy, very fast and with a lot of help from outside sources. He could feel the magics in the air, summoning rain and fog and harsh winds. What better way to hide their presence as they came from below, from the ruins he thought long abandoned.
Crowley pulled off his shoes and prepared for dealing with the two men who had just walked past and never seen him. He hadn't wanted to be seen and once he was invited to a party, he tended to mostly get his way about things. Crowley had a great deal of power, so much so that he'd actually set limitations on himself to make abusing that power very difficult. First, he had to be invited to act before he could use any of his abilities beyond the sorcerous. Second, he virtually never carried weapons.
That the two men were highly trained was obvious. They moved with great care and made certain to check their environment. Both had night vision capability. Neither was using it. There was enough ambient light that it was more a hindrance than a help. Crowley took his time moving closer and finally reached down to grab his weapon of choice.
“Gentlemen.”
Just the one word, which had exactly the desired effect. Both of the men turned toward him, giving him enough of a view of their faces to allow the sand to blast into their eyes, blinding them for a moment and also causing extreme enough pain to distract.
While they were trying to recover Crowley kicked the one on his left — the one who was already recovering — in the side as hard as he could. The man grunted and sailed ten feet back. He had armor, and the blow would not kill, but it certainly incapacitated.
The other man got three fingers across his throat in a hard slap that had him gagging for a moment before Crowley slipped behind him and caught him in a proper choke hold. They were soldiers and they were doing their jobs. They were also trained killers and he was in their way. He wanted them down and out, but not dead.
The one he'd kicked was starting to get up. Crowley kicked him again, this time in the head and hard enough to rattle his brain in his skull. The man fell flat, very likely with a concussion.
Both of the men actually had zip-tie cuffs. He took away their helmets and used the ties to truss up the soldiers.
After that he was heading for the facility. There were likely more soldiers, possibly they would even see him first, but he had to hope. Besides, Kharrn was along for the show. Crowley usually preferred to work alone, but there were exceptions to every rule. The giant of a man was good company, just as no nonsense about how to handle situations, and capable of fighting off half an army on his own. Also, he had history with the creatures they were dealing with and that helped.
Just enough moonlight to let him see the shape that came for him. That it wasn't a pure Deep One was immediately obvious. The thing had all the standard characteristics: bulging eyes, a flattened, almost non-existent nose, the thick-lipped mouth so reminiscent of a catfish, and a powerful body better equipped for life in the sea. Webbed hands and feet ended in thick, deadly claws, and it let out a nearly deafening croak-roar as it hop-lunged toward Crowley.
Large? Yes. Deadly? Absolutely. Coordinated? Not really. Whatever the hell they had done to the thing, it had no real training and seemed barely capable of walking.
But both of those deceptively long arms went up and came down with terrifying strength. Crowley managed to not be where they hit, which was the only thing that saved him from massive injuries.
He caught one of those arms and bent it back until the bones creaked and the elbow joint popped out of shape. The beast let loose with another sound that was unsettlingly human, and then thrashed its body hard enough to toss Crowley aside. He rolled with the blow and bounced off a rocky outcropping, feeling his flesh tear and his muscles pulp. Good enough to avoid broken bones, bit painful just the same.
His healing abilities kicked in instantly and the nearly fiery itch of his body recovering from severe trauma left Crowley scowling.
The thing charged for him a second time, dragging one ruined arm along at its side.
The mouth of it opened and revealed teeth that would have intimidated a shark. Crowley smiled and crouched, waiting. “Come on then, you little fuck.”
Crowley waited until it was close enough and then reached into his pants pocket for the package he'd set up earlier. The cloth tore easily enough and let his powdery concoction spill into his hand. At his whispered words the dust tore through the air, against the wind and ignited as it touched the sea-beast's flesh.
Did it scream as it burned? Yes, yes it did. And Crowley was pleased. If he was truthful, yes. He hated the Deep Ones and this bastardization could only make matters worse.
Above all things the Deep Ones valued secrecy. They had likely already heard of this facility. They were likely already watching.
Soon enough, unless Crowley and Kharrn managed to defuse the situation, the Deep Ones would come to handle the matter themselves. They would be far, far deadlier.
The idea he and his companion would do less damage when cleaning up the situation was amusing and frightening all at once.
Still, the notion made Crowley smile. Or maybe that was just the fact he'd be meting out bloodshed against those who richly deserved to bleed.
“And how the hell did they get out?” Salk was angry. He had every reason to be angry. This facility was his to control and at the moment that control was sadly lacking.
The building had no name. The location was considered classified. Currently the only people who were supposed to know about it were in the building and doing their best to control what could only be called a clusterfuck of epic scale.
The specimens were escaping. That should never have happened.
Five years of research with the Chimera cells offered up by MIT, five years of research that showed the cells were amazing and complex and could be introduced into other specimens with remarkable ease. Infusing the cells through a blood sample into twenty-five volunteers had led to twenty-five cases of mutation. Each and every single case resulted in a much stronger end result than anticipated. The specimens — all prisoners with a promise of early release they would have never gotten without the agreement — had grown from fifteen to eighty per cent in size. Each had shown the exact same sort of result initially, what Dr Sterling identified as a perfect example of an almost forgotten medical condition called the ‘Innsmouth Look’ — skin rashes, joint deformity, bulging eyes, hair loss… all of which, ironically, lead to increased stamina and strength and the development of gills.
Look deep enough and you can learn a few things. The closest actual town was Golden Cove, a commercial property with a growing tourism business and a steadily increasing population, some of whom also suffered from early stages of the Innsmouth Look.
The specimens they treated with the Chimera Cells, however, were changing faster. There had been talk of trying to increase the alterations. Adding predatory cats to the mix or even something with wings, but they had not progressed to that level, the only exception being a declawed Maine coon cat that had changed as dramatically as any of the human specimens. First it increased in size. Then it grew new claws — a lesson learned the hard way — and then it had started exhibiting the exact same traits before it was killed and the body incinerated.