Let’s just say that as days went on, Sarks did not really keep us awake, as every time I was awake, or we all were, I let a bit more of my darkness seep into them, and it showed; pheromones shifted ever so slightly, and Sarks had no idea about them.
But when you have captured 13 males and five females, predatory species who see humans as weaker and you as their mortal enemy, Sarks found it ever so difficult to be around us.
Even when we were knocked out cold.
And when he had to delegate something to his subordinates, it was always a failure on his part, as he wanted to be the one holding the power.
And as we were exceptionally poor subjects for his endeavors of betterment for rich old humans, as we were different species, it was getting really on their nerves, and they escalated their testing and became more erratic.
It was not unheard of when we were awake, and there were several Sarks in the same space that they actually argued about what was super rare, or at least I had not seen it ever happen.
They were arguing about what was planned and what was scrapped and who was supposed to do what and why; their nervousness around us was more and more obvious, and they had no idea.
I was awake, and one Sark came to me again.
I had been operated on again, this time on my back, hips, and thighs.
I guess it was something to do with my bones, and Sark sneered at me, “I will find some use for you, all of you. You are nothing but animals, and this is the fate of animals who are not obeying their masters.”
I was silent as he turned around and moved along the row, and then I said in a so faint voice it was even quieter than a whisper, one word: “victim…” with all of my creepiness, darkness, and vampire power oozing from my voice.
Sark stopped.
turned around, looked at me, and grunted.
I kept my expression neutral; he continued to circle us, stopping to sneer at Constantine.
And then Adam did the same, whispering, faint but nasty, “victim…”
Again, Sark tensed.
He kept on talking, trying to scare us; well, as the saying goes, once is a mistake, and twice is a habit.
He seemed to have some bad habits of trying to rile up something far nastier than him.
Sure, we were injured or maybe sick.
Infected, operated on, bled, and done to us god knows what, but my darkness, my rage, and my combo of powers made it so they did not bother us; they felt it, but it was nothing.
Every word that Sark spewed out of his mouth deepened my darkness.
And I let more of it to the others; I was getting us ready; soon it would be time for having serious fun.
It was mere arrogance, and I guess some kind of feeling of superiority that blinded Sarks so fully, as they just did not see how we pushed them to the brink and beyond.
Now, one might think that evil, nasty bastards like Sarks and one having ended up in their hands was no easy feat, and what this sounds like, it is almost like a joke to be strung up on these racks.
That there was no pain, no suffering.
It was the main reason why I did this slowly and shared this.
Sure, shared fun is double fun, but I was, at the same time, shielding my pack to the best of my abilities by giving them the ability to have a mental state not to give a shit about what shape they were in or how weak.
I was stopping them from becoming victims, as victims are harder for me to drag with me than a group of survivors or maybe a group of monsters.
In this case, being a monster was a smaller evil than letting sarks torture them out of their minds and destroy their bodies.
“Have you ever tasted what is considered the world’s best butter?” I asked Katherine, keeping my voice level, even; we were both a bit in pain, but my powers let us ignore it.
It had been some time again; I had no sense of time, and testing and torturing had escalated.
This time it was masked as testing our limits.
And as there were metals in us and God knows what, we did not regrow new tissues so fast.
Sure, it was fun to watch Katherine’s bowels shift and move as we were talking.
She looked at me, pondering, “Well, I have been around the block quite a few times, having tasted a bit of this and that. Can you tell me, was that butter’s name?”
Dresden was awake too; he had more scars on his neck and chest, as well as on his left arm.
Alaric and Constantine were not awake, and Mimosa and Shadow were listening.
They had scars on their pelvic area, thighs, and knees, as well as a few burns on their temples, suggesting electric torture in the brain.
I said, “Well, it was a demicel version with 2.8 percent of salt; I have no actual name for it. It was in Paris once I was on a mission there. I went to this small, dainty coffee shop. It was actually one of the most expensive ones, a really fancy one. And I ordered fresh croissants and coffee, and I got a table full of all kinds of treats, as the owner knew me, for I had saved his family members. He gave me this butter, and oh my god, it was truly sublime.”
Again, our little chat irritated Sarks as well, my little reminiscing about my old mission.
I revealed nothing about the mission, making Sarks more irate, as they were hoping for something, anything useful from us, but our little game went on.
It was handy now to have a memory like mine; I could remember all of these little snippets and use them against Sarks, making them even more unhinged.
As there was surveillance and those records could not be wiped away, as they were sent to an external server, and as this was logged as a level 3 biohazard facility, meaning no living subject but possible pathogens.
It was done by law, and this would give us much more evidence to show authorities just how unhinged Sarks truly were, how far they would go, and how they treated us.
Despite this, all seemed so random; there was a plot behind our behavior.
I was always trying to find a way to make Sarks’ nasty life a little bit harder, and I was willing to take the hit; this time, I let most of my pack see what it actually meant and what kind of experience this would be.
Magnum was also awake; I could feel his tuning as he too was planning and plotting, using my powers as much as he could.
He asked me, keeping his tone conversational, “Have you ever dined at a Michelin-star restaurant, fine dining, all that jazz, having those mini portions and then having to eat like a fine lady?”
I rolled my eyes, coughed a bit, and said, my voice husky as my throat was sore, “I have, and in the future I might have to do it again. I have certain contacts, and those kinds of restaurants are what they expect, so yeah, I can eat like a lady. It does not mean I get full, but I can do it.”
Elena commented, “What I have looked up sometimes: their wine lists are so freaking expensive.”
Taylor, who was awake now too, said, “Well, boss, I guess you owe us someday real fine dining and splurging in some Michelin-star place with the most expensive wines.”
I said out loud, “Sure thing, kid; that’s a deal then. I was thinking maybe sometimes having a cruise, asking oldies there and reminiscing and eating and having fun, but my dear husbands are a bit too apprehensive about that, or at least they would be part of it, and then again, they can be a bit overwhelming in certain situations.”
Elena giggled and said, “Thank God I am not married to them.”
Wulfe snapped, “Could you stop your idle conversation? I am not in the mood to listen to this damn domestic shit. I think we might, say, try to plan our exit?”
His voice was sneering as ever, and he looked at me with such contempt and hatred that I had never believed I would witness this, but I let my darkness out more; it helped.
This burning pain in my soul was less, or at least I did not care about it so much.
I said to him, via our hive, my voice cold, “Pace yourself; you won’t get anywhere if we do not work together.”
He snapped his mouth shut, still glaring at me as we continued our conversation about all random things while strategizing in the hive.
When was the best time, and what had we learned so far?
Our plan was coming together, and it would not be fast and easy, as there were many moving parts: our own state of mind, a victim count, and an unknown number of hostiles.
Magnum was idly thinking, trying to find some armor to use if we had time, but I stopped him and told him, “We don’t need armor; I give you more oomph, and nothing feels. As said, we used guns that guards have, meaning shoot them empty and take the next one. You can also hoard a pile of them as we have our fun so you have firepower.”
Murdock grunted; he was awake now too, in a bit more pain as they had operated on his back.
He said, “Well, I try to select what each of us should use, but I think guns will not be our first weapon.”
I nodded, flexing my fingers where my poison nails glistened.
Shadow said, “Ooh, poison nails, cool. I wonder, should we get some too?”
I said again telepathically, as I did not want Sarks to notice my poison nails just yet, “You will get yours in time; pace yourself. We need to not let Sarks just yet find our pretty nails and their exquisite poisons.”
I was not sure which of the men was also very keen to get true poison nails.
I did not think about the future or what this all would do to us.
Would we be even tighter pack than before?
Meaning I might have a little more power over these than fucking machines and pussy slaves?
But I might have to hide it for a while, as my dear lust-filled husband did not always like when I overpowered him, even if he was the nominal pack leader.
Right now, I am the pack leader, as I am with my pack, doing what we should: protecting them while including them and letting them do their part too.
This dive into darkness or whatever would surely affect us all, and if Damon had a problem with it, so be it, but I had no idea about how many resetters I had in the nearest safe house, and were we still in the same place?
Well, I could ask for more resetters then, when it would be that time.
But first it would be one damn fun gorefest, and it would take some time, as we would wait for a few shifts to always come in and then kill them all, as no one here was innocent; they knew what was done here and why and whom, so everyone had dirty hands and no mercy coming their way.
Poor Colin and most of our medics might be a bit overwhelmed once we start sending victims into bases to be treated, and he might not be so available to treat us all.
Well, of course it would all depend on what shape we would be in, but this utter freedom, my darkness slithering in my mind, promised good times if we wanted to continue to chase Sarks after this.
My past exploits came to mind, but this time it would be almost the whole pack, and neither Sark nor Krychek would be free.
It would be just perfect, and my darkness could be very alluring.
Visions flashed in my mind; I let some of them seep into others so they could see it too.
Much of this would depend on just how poor a state we would be in.
It might be that it would be no good for us to go on a rampage if we were at our wits’ end; we would not get far until we crumbled.
So I still had a bit of sense left in my mind, not much but some.
And my dark power evolved almost daily as I added a bit of this and a bit of that, giving bursts to others, making them quite euphoric from time to time, and pissing Sarks really well.
Sure, they might escalate, but that was the purpose of this: getting them really riled up, making them vindicate themselves as much as possible, and then delivering tapes to the correct place.
Maybe the NSA or someone else might want to take a real hit against Sarks once they see what we were going through.
After all, I was an agent of the NSA and leader of my division, and I guess the NSA might not have been too happy when one of their own was tortured and experimented on just because they wanted to.
And this was also a message to those big shots who were connected to Project Omega, a little reminder of what I was capable of and what I was, and would Sark be a better target for them as well?
I was multitasking while making sure I got to have fun too.
Again, more evidence was piling up as there was talk about harvesting our enzymes and our tissues, Sark’s unhinged hostility towards us, and them calling us animals.
All we had to do was make them talk, and they would do the rest themselves.
A few nicely laid traps by Magnum had already established that Sarks knew pretty much what others were doing, no more slithering out of charges by saying they had no connection in the collective, and as there were plans for each of us made a long time ago, that was not clinical, not medical, and even their big-shot lawyers might have a hard time getting free from this.