'Nother chapter.
CHAPTER SEVEN:
The Malice Monologues
"What plan?" Cloak snarled, hoping to appeal to her cliche supervillian ego. She had a great weakness for the theatrical and long-winded speeches. "Wasn't getting me here enough of you plan?"
"Foolish boy!" Malice said with a scream of laughter. "Surely you jest! What made you ever think that we were interested in bring
you here?"
"But you said --" Abomination began.
"Hush, now, my love." Malice said, without any sentiment. Abomination seemed to have missed this distinction.
Cloak remained motionless and kept his face deliberately emotionless. He knew her inner need to gloat about her machinations would reveal all that was necessary. Eventually, she could no longer resist explaining and gloating about her newest scheme.
"Your RAFian allies give you strength, no? Bolster your resolve, enable you to perform braver feats than if you were alone, right?"
Cloak did not answer. He waited for Malice to continue. She was merely goading him right now. To what ends, Cloak didn't know. Yet.
"Oh, you don't want to play?" she said in a mockingly sweet voice. "Oh, okay. Well, you know the answer, anyway. We all do."
"I don't." Abomination whined.
"Quiet, love. I'm talking." Malice said in voice like poisoned honey. She turned back to Cloak, who was still standing stock still. "Anyway, dear boy, don't you wonder what's going on in RAF with your absence?"
Cloak hid his surprise. He had not. His feline curiosity had gotten the better of him. He had not paused to consider whether his fellow RAFians could be in need of his assistance. He suppressed his alarm and kept his face resolutely blank, and said nothing.
Malice continued, "No, of course not. You are easily lead astray, boy. Your grandfather wouldn't have so easily fallen for that ploy."
Malice was goading him again, he knew. So he ignored it . . . as best as he could. Then he noticed that Abomination had gone. How could he be so foolish? But where had he gone?
"Oh, he's not here," Malice said, conversationally. "He's gone to plant the bombs."
"Bombs?" Cloak demanded, dropping all pretense. "What bombs?"
"Oh, the viral nanite kind." Malice said, suddenly sipping from a Realm Walker version of a martini. "Once activated they will alter the neural pathways of all sentient Dwellers."
"Alter?!" Cloak said, rage bubbling its way forcibly to the surface.
"Well, yes," Malice said in a coy tone. "At first, it will just alter there speaking and language pathways. Like that Babble Tower story that those humans are so fond of."
Cloak stared at her. That was her plan? To create a Tower of Babel scenario on Earth? There had to be something more to it than that.
"And, after twelve hours or so after activation, the brain becomes a degenerated mass of slushy gray stuff." Malice said, fishing a berry out of her glass.
"You're a monster," Cloak choked out, fighting his anger and rage -- a lifelong struggle with him.
"I'm glad you noticed! . . . It took you long enough." Malice replied.
