George Mann - The Osiris Ritual

Newbury shuddered. So this was the disgusting genius of Dr. Fabian, taken to its extreme. He could hardly believe this had been sanctioned by the Crown. He pitied the man, despite himself.

Newbury had no idea how Ashford could go on living like this. It was a form of waking torture, that every minute his intel ect should be housed in this wreckage of a frame, this parody of a human body. No wonder the man had been driven insane. Newbury was amazed it had not happened sooner. Indeed, he felt a kind of sickening sympathy for the man, an understanding of the desperation that had led him to this point. Science had betrayed him, and so had the Crown.

His life had been extended beyond the point of death, certainly, but Newbury doubted it was a life worth living; the pain and hardship he must have suffered since his resurrection would have driven any man insane. And now Ashford had turned to the occult, hoping to find a means to restore himself, to reclaim the life that was once his. It was tragic, and Newbury was repulsed, not only by what the man had become, but the means by which he had become it. Nevertheless, regardless of circumstances, Ashford had committed two murders, and whatever happened there in the train tunnel he needed to be brought to justice.

Newbury inched backwards, shuffling along the tracks, trying to put some distance between himself and the strange, mechanical man. Ashford stooped low in response, as if reaching for Newbury's ankle. The detective rol ed, using his momentum to spring up onto his hands and knees and then twisting into a standing position. He fired out a blind kick in Ashford's general direction, in an attempt to keep the other man at bay whilst he found his bearings. To his surprise, his foot hit home, although it seemed to have little effect other than to give Newbury some extra leverage to right himself. Again, Ashford attempted to slap at Newbury with the palm of his hand, swatting at him as if he were a buzzing insect, but Newbury was able to skip away, watchful that his feet did not become entangled in the rails. He could not work out what Ashford was trying to achieve with such bizarre tactics. Surely a trained agent, a man who had lived rough in a foreign territory for over five years, would have developed more comprehensive combat manoeuvres? Especially a man with such power. If he were able to plant even one successful blow to Newbury's head or gut, Newbury knew it would be the end of him. He'd fought machines before, but this was an entirely different proposition. No, it was almost as if, with these flat-handed attacks, Ashford was genuinely attempting not to wound him, instead choosing to parry Newbury's ineffective blows and disable him with the least amount of effort. Perhaps he was telling the truth? Perhaps he really didn't want to hurt him?

Confused, Newbury backed away. By now, people were shrieking loudly on the platform, but the combatants paid them no heed. Newbury wiped his sleeve across his brow. "Ashford.. you have to come in with me. They'll hunt you down. I’ll hunt you down, unless you stop me. Put an end to this now."

The half-human, half-machine rounded on him. Newbury found it difficult to get a measure of the man's facial expression, all subtlety lost beneath the layers of peeling flesh. His voice chimed in its strange, metallic tones. "I cannot."

Newbury sighed. "Then I fear I must detain you myself."

Launching himself from the tunnel wal with a kick of his foot, Newbury pounced towards Ashford. To his horror, he registered, too late, the nature of the screams from the platform. People were shouting a warning. A train was coming. It was hurtling into the platform, heading directly for the mouth of the tunnel where Newbury and Ashford were now locked in combat.

Newbury landed on the other man, chopping down at his neck. Ashford, however, was ready for this, and instead of fending off Newbury's attack, he grappled with him, grabbing him firmly around the waist. Newbury fought frantically against his captor, but Ashford was too strong, and held him, pinned, as the train hurtled into the station. There was no way either of them could now escape the roar of the oncoming engine.

Ashford moved like lightning. He lurched to one side, bodily heaving Newbury up and into the air, spinning the Crown investigator up onto the platform, where he landed with a painful thump. It was just in time. The engine's brakes squealed loudly as the driver caught sight of the figure in its path, but it was too late for Ashford. The train slammed into him, lifting him off the ground with a sickening thud. His body was flung around the curved prow of the engine, trapping him between the side of the tank and the tunnel wal. Newbury watched in shock as Ashford's elbows scraped against the dirty tiles, setting a shower of sparks flying as his metal bones were dragged across the hard ceramic. The train screeched to a halt. Ashford, now partially obscured by the shadows of the tunnel, turned to regard Newbury, his red eyes flashing. Then, without saying another word, he eased himself out from between the engine and the tunnel wal, clambered around the front of the train, and dropped to the ground. Now out of sight, Newbury heard his footsteps padding away into the distance, further away into the depths of the Underground.

Newbury col apsed onto his back, breathing heavily.

Ashford had saved his life. There was no doubt. The man had purposeful y placed Newbury out of the path of the oncoming train, at great risk to himself. It was only due to Dr. Fabian's enhancements that Ashford had managed to survive the encounter at al. If survive was the right word.

Sighing, exhausted, Newbury took in his situation. The civilians on the platform had formed a large circle around him, their faces gleaming with expressions that ranged from horror to admiration and everything in between. Newbury couldn't help but laugh out loud when, a moment later, a startled-looking Purefoy pushed his way through the press of people, rushing to Newbury's side. The boy looked dishevel ed, tired and anxious. "What happened to him? Where is he?"

"He got away."

"What.. I.." Purefoy looked devastated. He glanced down at the ruination of his bloody hands, as if refusing to believe that everything he had been through that evening had been in vain, that al of their efforts had led to nothing but failure.

Newbury felt quite the opposite. "I should add at this point, Purefoy, that I'm beginning to think I may have been wrong al along." Newbury glanced in the direction of the tunnel mouth, where Ashford had disappeared into the murky darkness. "He saved my life." He looked up at the quizzical face of the young reporter. "Perhaps Ashford isn't our killer, after all."

Veronica stirred to wakefulness.

Her eyelids were heavy and she had the bizarre notion that she was floundering underwater, her senses dimmed, her breathing thick and uncomfortable. She gasped at the air, striking out with her hands, encountering only hard, rough panels in all directions. Her heart was racing in her chest.

Probing her lips with her tongue, she found that they were dry and sore. She'd clearly been asleep for some time. She wrinkled her nose. There was a cloying scent in the air, a heady aroma of flowers.

The smell seemed somehow familiar, somehow comforting. It made her feel as if she wanted to curl up and go back to sleep, to lose herself in its floral embrace. She fought the urge, knowing, somewhere in the back of her mind, that it would be dangerous to allow herself to slip away again.

She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, or where she was, now that she had woken.

She tried to get her bearings, but her mind was slow and glacial. There was a light breeze brushing against her left cheek and she turned towards it, allowing it to play over her face. The fresh air was cool and sobering.