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The Corridor of Busts, gleaming with its stone gallery honoring the Mendez Dynasty, glimmered like a museum in Buck's eyes. He had been disrobed following the incredible scene in the cathedral so that now he was once more in his familiar rags. Caspay and the Negro were escorting him to some unknown destination. Or fate. Mercifully they had replaced their masks so that their marble faces of beauty were once again intact. Buck wasn’t sure he could have borne gazing too long into those skinless, horrendous travesties of the human face. Caspay was smiling, as usual; knowing the man as he now did, Buck knew it meant nothing very good.
"I trust our simple ceremony convinced you of our peaceable intentions," Caspay murmured in his bland way.
"I found it informative," Buck said guardedly.
"Then your cooperation has its reward."
"It's the only reward?" Buck turned away from his contemplative study of the busts along the corridor. "When may I hope to be set free?"
Caspay's mouth was still smiling, but not his eyes.
"You may hope whenever you please, Mr. Rogers. Have pleasant dreams." With that, he waved his hand and continued along the corridor, his green robes rustling.
"Don't think so," Buck answered drily, watching him until he vanished. The Negro now placed an unwelcome hand on Buck's elbow and guided him to a passage turning left off the corridor's far side. Here, low ceilings and closely distanced walls suggested a catacomb complex. The area was as labyrinthine as a grotto but white-walled and sourcelessly white-lighted. There was no telling where the illumination came from. Buck squinted against the glare.
"If the apes intend to attack us, Mr. Rogers, how can we let you and this woman go?" the Negro asked suddenly, almost mildly.
Another twist in the labyrinth. Another turn. Nothing from Buck. Nothing from Nova.
"You know too many of our secrets," the Negro reminded him.
He halted Buck, for the corridor or passageway had suddenly come to a dead end. A cul-de-sac terminating at a closed door that bore no lettering, no identification of any kind. The Negro prodded Ardley as he touched a wall button. "Like the man you'll be rooming with," he muttered. The door, hinged and lined with thick metal bars, opened inward.
Buck gaped.
It was a bare white cell, no larger than a storage closet. But within it stood a giant of a man. Bearded, bronzed, his great shaggy head oddly in keeping with his garments of loincloth and tatters. The Negro looked in the doorway, grinning like an ebony idol. Buck staggered forward. The Negro, taking Nova firmly by her right arm, closed the cell door with a loud slam.
"Bastards," the bearded man muttered.
"And you are...?" Buck frowned. He had a sinking feeling he knew who he was talking to.
The man sighed. "Someone who's been living a horrible nightmare for the last six months and wishes he could wake up and find out that none of it ever happened."
He got to his feet and came up to Buck with his hand outstretched.
"We might as well get to know each other," he said pleasantly. "My name is Taylor."
For a long moment, Buck eyed him with suspicion. Was this the Taylor that John tasked him with finding? But Buck decided to take Taylor's hand and reciprocate the handshake, "Captain Buck Rogers."
Taylor's eyebrow suddenly went up, " American?"
"Well, not exactly. I'm with the Earth Defense Directorate Intercept Squadron."
"Earth, huh?" he chuckled mirthlessly, "At least we're from the same planet. Although, a long time ago, I used to be Colonel George Taylor, U.S. Air Force."
"I know. Five hundred and nineteen years ago. Commander of the first Icarus spacecraft."
Taylor gasped. "Yeah, that's right. How did you know?"
"Because I'm from the 20th century myself."
"Never heard of you," Taylor said.
"But I've heard of you, Taylor. That's why I've been looking for you."
Taylor's face darkened. Rage crept in. "What the hell is it about me!? First, the apes try to destroy me just because I can think and talk. Then that creep Mendez throws me in this dungeon. And now you----"
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The Corridor of Busts echoed with the sound of the guard's heels. Before him, Nova had been moving like a dead woman, her eyes listless and her muscles flaccid. But now, somehow, the sound of Buck's voice echoing the only name she had ever understood came to her, like the call of a bugle. The effect was electrifying. With a wheeling speed more animal than human, she slipped out of the guard's grasp, biting down on his bared hand like a tigress. The guard screamed and let go. Nova broke away from him, running like a gazelle toward the echo of Buck's words. And the sound of the name, Tay-lor!
Before the guard could rally in lumbering pursuit, his damaged hand already bleeding, the girl had sprinted down the corridor, turned into the passage leading to the catacomb complex, and vanished from sight.
Nova ran like hell.
The guard pounded along behind her.
Her bare feet made slapping noises along the passageway floor.753Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwDW3odMG8J
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"How the hell did you get here?" Taylor demanded.
"By subway, 'natch."
"Well, Rogers, you're five hundred years late," Taylor replied through cracked lips. His heroic face, which would have looked so proper on a coin or medallion, had always wowed the ladies.
"Service never was much good," Buck agreed.
"Is your commander with you?"
"There's no commander. Just me."
Taylor sighed. "Then how....?"
"I found Nova and brought her here."
Taylor's eyes widened. "Nova? Here?" Taylor asked anxiously. "Where is she? Has she had my baby?"
"Whoa!" Buck interrupted, urging for focus. "Let's take it step by step. Nova is here, but they've split us up. Her child is being looked after in the Inner City."
"Inner City?"
"It's a high-tech human community located in the former Chicago area. And yes, she has given birth."
"Thank God, thank God," Taylor's eyes welled up with tears of relief. But as his solitary suffering began to ease, a troubling thought struck him: "Why were you and Nova separated?"
"They were trying to make me kill her---Suddenly, he stared at Taylor. "Come to that, why haven't they killed you?"
"You know why, Mr. Rogers. Because our doctrines of peace do not permit us to kill our enemies."
The two men looked over and saw standing outside the cell the tall, imposing figure of the Negro who had inflicted his horrible psychic tortures on Buck.
"It has been most interesting to watch the conversation between the two of you," the Negro said, "Unfortunately there can be no future conversations."
Taylor and Buck cringed at the sight of his beautiful smile. "Since it is clear that the two of you constitute a potential threat, both of you must be disposed of." The Negro paused, then directed his next remark to Taylor. "That is why our enemies must be turned against each other."
Buck shuddered, knowing what that could mean. Taylor didn't. He advanced belligerently on the Negro, hands bunching.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" he snarled, showing the erosion that imprisonment had worked on him and his willpower.
"I do," Buck said.
The Negro closed his eyes.
Buck braced himself, steeling his will against the mental assault he knew was underway. Taylor gawked at him, puzzled. The gawk widened as he saw Buck's hands come up, fashion themselves into fists. Buck had assumed an aggressive fighting position! He could see the perspiration breaking out on Buck's face. But, incredibly---impossibly---his own hands were coming up, knotting into fists, and he felt his brain grow cold with hate and the desire to crush, hurt, maim.
Taylor confronted Buck.
Buck confronted Taylor.
The Negro, eyes still closed, remained in the doorway.
The glare of the cell was white, stark, ugly.
The smiles had drained from the two spacemen. Both faces began to twitch under the hammer blows of hypnosis.
Vainly resisting, Buck gasped, "I am fighting an order! I----am----fighting----TAYLOR!"
With that, he lashed out with a terrible left to the jutting promontory of Taylor's chin.
The fight was vicious and savage.
Both men in the grip of power willing them not merely to hurt but to murder each other---with no lethal holds barred and no dirty killer's tricks left untried---collided in the center of the room. Taylor gouged at Buck's eyes. Buck swung a violent foot onto Taylor's groin. The sound of the encounter was prodigious. They locked in the death grip of brutal close combat. Kicking, gouging, biting, clawing, tearing at each other like two wild animals. Grunts, groans and curses filled the cell. The Negro, eyes screwed tightly shut, stood unmoving in the doorway. His face might have been carved out of granite.
Taylor caught Buck in a powerful viselike hold, swung him like a rag doll, and then battered him in the head, butting him like a ram. Buck kicked out with his legs. He caught Taylor in the pit of the stomach. Taylor let go and Buck broke loose. For a long second both men were free of each other, circling warily, waiting for the next opening. Their faces were bloody masks, their teeth exposed in brutal animal snarls. They were all but spitting at one another. The savage code of the jungle. Survival of the fittest, the law of fang and claw. They were slavering, grasping, and grunting. Two mockeries of intelligent life.
The Negro, eyes still shut, dug into his white robes and produced two weapons. Two shining short knives with hafts of ebony. These he threw unseeing into the middle of the room. The knives clattered onto the floor. As if they had been a bone. Taylor and Buck instantly swept up the weapons. Now the fight assumed a deadlier overtone. An aura of the slaughterhouse hung about the cell, a charnel atmosphere that had eons and eras of brutality, prehistoric violence, and unthinking savagery as its questionable guide.
Buck and Taylor went at each other still more viciously.
There was the sharp, ringing strike of metal against metal, the fierce muted thunder of men breathing like animals, gulping oxygen with bestial rapidity. Snarling, snapping, biting, digging at each other as if the universe depended on this one single encounter to give anything of life meaning, and sense.
From outside the cell, the Negro kept his eyes shut in intense concentration, mentally willing the feelings of hate into the prisoners and prepared to keep it up until both of them were dead. The stunning waves of traumatic hypnosis held Buck and Taylor in a dazzling, relentless hold which would not loosen until the Negro opened his eyes.
The barren little cell allowed no escape. No headway. No room in which to maneuver to advantage. Like the suicidal duels of ancient times, both combatants were committed to a battle from which neither could emerge unscathed or unmarked. Blood would tell.
It was falling now, spurting from cuts and slices and minor wounds which only served to make Buck and Taylor go at each other all the stronger with their lunging, stabbing thrusts. The Negro maintained his position.
And the outcome drew nearer.
Inevitable, like something preordained.
The fight was now at its sharpest pitch.
There was about it a ferocity that lent it an animal quality. Except that it was easier to kill with a knife than to rend and tear a man into bloody fragments.
Buck moved like a ferret, hacking out at the bigger man.
He made a score. Blood spurted from Taylor's side as the knife bit in and pulled out again.
Taylor roared from deep in his chest, bounded forward, and Buck found himself face to face with finality. Now the death dance began, with the two of them reeling around the narrow white cell, knives going for each other's bared throats; then hand to hand, each holding onto the enemy knife aimed now at his own heart.
And then there was an interruption.
Nova materialized in the door behind the Negro.
She saw Taylor, saw the fight. The shock and the joy combined in one mammoth surge of emotion that needed some outlet, some vent through which to escape. Some avenue along which to meet the world.
The miracle occurred.
Nova's neck muscles arched, her lips parted and she spoke.
Not just the name.
But universal, magical words.
"Tay-lor! S-Stop.... I-it!"
The words were tinny, faint, a faraway sound but as crystal-clear in quality as the first sentence spoken by a schooled deaf child. As can happen with a mute who is not necessarily deaf, the girl had formed the very first sentence of her life.
And Taylor heard her.
And Buck heard her.
And, fatally for him, the Negro also heard her. He made the mistake of opening his eyes.
Buck sobbed, the magical change sweeping over his brain.
"He opened his eyes!"
Taylor staggered back, equally freed of the mental lock. Buck jumped forward, knife upraised, and plunged the point of the blade into the Negro's heart. The white-robed figure threshed against the door and then lurched forward into the cell. Buck watched, panting. The knife protruded from the reddening folds of the white robe. The Negro plucked at it ineffectually, his hands pawing feebly. Away from the door, his weight free of it, the barrier swung shut with a slam. There was no handle on the inner side of the cell. Buck was too late to catch the door before it closed. There was the click of an automatic lock.
Eyes glazed, the Negro blurted, "Unto God.....I reveal...." His bloodstained hands tore at the rubberized mask of his features, "My Inmost S-s-s-se...."
He fell flat on his face before he could complete the gesture. Taylor, bathed in sweat, crouched over his prostrate body, his eyes almost insane. Buck suddenly retched; a ratchet-like cough of pain. Taylor went to him, seeing the widening stain of blood from a place in Buck's shoulder where his knife had drawn blood. Nova had come forward to assist him, both of them trying to stanch the flow of red from Buck's wound. It was an awesome slice across the deltoid. Taylor quickly cut strips from the dead Negro's white robe to fashion a crude serviceable bandage. Buck winced painfully. Taylor worked fast, conscious of Nova hovering at his side. The girl was smiling despite everything.
"You talked," Taylor said, kissing her gently. "And we're alive!"
She looked up at him, pleased at his evident pleasure. Then he kissed her again. A prolonged kiss. Buck smiled, but in the sudden silence, he could hear a soft but steady rush of sound. Like---air! Coming from---Buck's eyes searched the room rapidly---there was a 6-inch impenetrably grilled vent in the wall behind Taylor, just above his head. Taylor broke from the kiss.
"It's no use," he told Buck, quick to the direction of his gaze. "I've tried. We're near a main air-conditioning vent."
"It's cold," Buck said.
Taylor eyed the inert body of the Negro with disgust.
"Just as well." His nose wrinkled. "We may have to wait, and I'm allergic to the stink of death. Now, talk some more, Buck, and make it quick."
Buck fingered his bandage, fighting the pain.
"Those people have an atom bomb."
Taylor's eyes narrowed. "They have one of those damn things?"
"It gets worse, Taylor. It's operational. They're getting ready to set it off."
"What type is it?"
"Well---I've heard it's some kind of 'doomsday' bomb. But I--I don't know what that means." This last was almost rueful.
"I might know," Taylor said grimly. "What series number is it?"
"Ah---there aren't any numbers. Just two Greek letters on one of the fins. Alpha, Omega."
Taylor's face contorted, the lines of agony etching deep into every crevice. "Out of all the bombs we made, why in the world did these lunatics have to lay their hands on the ultimate weapon?" The words escaped through gritted teeth, laced with a seething intensity that sent shivers down the spines of those within earshot. Every muscle in Taylor's body seemed to tense, as if ready to explode with a raw and unyielding fury.
Buck's heart raced. "The ultimate weapon??" he exclaimed, his voice trembling with urgency. "What do you mean?"
"That's your Doomsday Bomb, Buck," Taylor said. "Cobalt casing. Only three of them existed in the late 20th century. I have no idea if they were destroyed before the destruction took place, but they couldn't have been used without destroying the entire planet."
"How is that possible?" Buck was shocked by this revelation. "A single weapon destroying an entire planet?"
"The way the principle works is that if it's set off, the ensuing explosion sets off a chain reaction within the atmosphere that sucks all the oxygen and everything else that makes the air breathable out completely. You'd have an Earth that became a planet where the air is constantly on fire and burning until another chain reaction would have to inevitably take place at the core blowing the planet apart."
"Why would we have built something like that?" Buck was horrified.
"It was meant as the ultimate bluff," Taylor said, "The idea is that an adversary wouldn't run the risk of going to a regular nuclear war that they felt they could win if the other side was willing to destroy the rest of the world in the process by using the Alpha-Omega bomb."
"I didn't think the people of my time were that dumb," Buck shook his head.
Nova, always responsive to his moods, huddled closer to him.
Buck had forgotten all about the throbbing discomfort of his damaged shoulder.
Buck's hands trembled as he reached down, his fingers wrapping tightly around the hilt of the knife embedded in the Black Man's chest. With a determined pull, he exerted all his strength, feeling the resistance of congealed blood and torn flesh. The seconds stretched into an agonizing minute as he fought against the stubborn grip of death.
Finally, with a sickening squelch, the knife relinquished its hold. Buck's heart sank as he beheld the gruesome aftermath that lay before him. The gaping wound in the mutant's chest seemed to defy comprehension, a macabre testament to the brutality of their encounter.
The jagged edges of torn muscle and shattered bone formed a grotesque landscape within the cavity. Blood pooled around it like a crimson river, staining everything in its path. Buck's gaze traced along the ragged edges, his mind struggling to comprehend how such devastation could be inflicted upon another living being.
"I'll keep hold of this," Buck said, his voice laced with determination as he clenched his fists, suppressing the surge of revulsion rising within him. The mere thought of those manipulative creatures attempting their mind-control tricks on them again ignited a fiery resolve deep within his core. "If they dare to pull that stunt on us one more time, I won't hesitate to put an end to them, even if it means taking their lives. We can't allow ourselves to be subjected to their wicked influence any longer."
"I should warn you, Buck, that finding a way out of this place is no easy task. It's like being trapped in an intricate maze with no clear exit. I've attempted countless escapes before, but it's as if they have some uncanny ability to anticipate my every move. They always seem to be one step ahead, knowing exactly what I'm about to do before I even think of doing it and predicting my intended destination before I can even reach it. It's like they have eyes everywhere, those guards lurking around every corner."
"If there's a way in, there's a way out. We're either going to tear up this place until we find it, or force Mendez the Twenty-Sixth to lead us to it personally," Buck declared with determination in his voice.
After leaving the cell, Taylor, Buck, and Nova made their way down the dimly lit corridor, its walls adorned with an eerie display of meticulously crafted busts. Each sculpture depicted a past Mendez family member, their stern gazes frozen in time. As they walked, Buck's eyes were drawn to the row of these haunting figures. He couldn't help but pause for a moment, his curiosity piqued by the grotesque artistry before him.
His gaze traveled from one bust to another, each one seemingly more repulsive than the last. The sculptor had captured every minute detail with unsettling precision - the deep lines etched on weathered foreheads, the coldness in their eyes that seemed to penetrate one's soul. Buck's brows furrowed in disgust as he took in their twisted features.
"These...these are obscene," he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible amidst the silence of the corridor.
Buck suddenly knocked Mendez I off his gleaming plinth. The bust crashed to the floor, shattering. Methodically, grimly, he moved down the line, striking out, pushing, breaking. One by one, the stone history of the Mendez Dynasty broke apart in scattered, useless fragments. With great enthusiasm, Buck finally reached the end of the stone line, Mendez XXVI. The last bust disintegrated on the floor in a shower of stone chips and dust.
As they kept moving down the dimly lit hallway, Buck's mind wandered back to the early days of the Inner City. He couldn't help but draw parallels between the colony of mutants they were now encountering and his friends who had once been urban refugees themselves.
In those early days, when the Earth was ravaged by nuclear war, Buck's people had also experienced the tragedy of losing everything they held dear. Their homes, their possessions, their sense of security—all vanished in an instant. They were left with nothing but uncertainty and a desperate need to survive.
Just like these mutants now, Buck's people had struggled to cope with their new reality. They had been forced to adapt to a life that was completely foreign to them—a life filled with constant danger and unknown threats lurking around every corner. The mutants before them seemed to be going through a similar struggle, trying to make do with whatever resources they could find in this post-apocalyptic world.
It took Taylor a moment to peer around the corner in search of the mutants. The dimly lit corridor stretched out before him, its eerie silence adding to the tension in the air. When he didn't see any sign of movement, he motioned his arm for Buck and Nova to follow cautiously.
As they crept forward, their footsteps barely making a sound against the cold metal floor, Taylor couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. The mutants had been lurking in these underground tunnels for weeks now, preying on anyone unfortunate enough to cross their path. It was a constant battle for survival, and finding an exit seemed like their only hope.
Buck's question broke Taylor's train of thought. "Have you any idea where the exit is?" he asked, his voice filled with both desperation and determination.
"I can tell you it's not that way," Taylor waved his hand behind as he moved off to the right, "That way is the cathedral."
"And this way?" Buck asked, his voice filled with anticipation.
"This way leads further east," Taylor explained, his voice tinged with a mix of caution and determination. As he recounted his daring escape, I couldn't help but be captivated by his story. "When I escaped the last time," he continued, his eyes glinting with a hint of mischief, "I got the sense that the bulk of their colony lies in that direction."
"Any particular reason?" Buck asked, eager to delve deeper into his knowledge.
"Not really," Taylor shook his head, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. He had always been a wanderer, never truly settling down in one place. Growing up in the small town of Indiana, he had dreamt of exploring the world beyond its borders. And so, he ventured off to the Air Force Academy in Colorado, seeking new horizons and thrilling adventures.
Throughout his career, Taylor had found himself stationed in various states - Texas and Florida being the most prominent ones. The vast landscapes and warm climates had captivated him, making it difficult for any other place to compare. New York City, with its towering skyscrapers and bustling streets, had always felt foreign to him.
"Let's hope your hunch is correct," Buck said, his voice filled with a mix of anticipation and doubt.
Buck, Taylor, and Nova cautiously proceeded down the dimly lit hallway, their eyes fixed on the mesmerizing panels of light that flickered intermittently along the walls. The rhythmic pattern of illumination created an eerie ambiance, casting fleeting shadows that danced across their faces. As they ventured further, Taylor couldn't help but notice the resemblance between the steel doors beneath each panel and the sturdy compartments found in submarines. The astronaut's curiosity piqued, Taylor reached out to grasp the cold metal handle of one of the doors, intending to investigate what lay beyond. However, much to their frustration, the valve controlling the door refused to budge despite Taylor's persistent efforts. It seemed as though these doors were designed to remain sealed shut, guarding whatever secrets lay hidden behind them.
"Forget it, Taylor," Buck said, his voice filled with determination. "Let's move on and focus on our mission." The astronaut nodded in agreement, their shared resolve evident in their eyes as they resumed their arduous journey down the seemingly endless dark corridor. The only source of illumination came from the sporadic light panels that lined the walls, casting an eerie glow that danced across their determined faces.
As they pressed forward, a glimmer of curiosity sparked within Buck when he noticed a weather-beaten sign along the corridor wall. Intrigued, he instinctively halted his steps and leaned closer to decipher its faded message. The words etched onto the sign revealed fragments of forgotten history, whispering tales of past explorations and unknown dangers lurking ahead.
"Oyster Bar Restaurant," Buck said aloud, his voice echoing through the dimly lit underground space. "Does it ring any bells?"
"It sure does," Taylor said. "That means we're under Grand Central Station." he paused for a moment, his gaze fixed on the ornate ceiling above them. "Above us is the place where Mendez and his cronies brought us here initially."
"Then that would mean they're right above us and if they're aware that we've escaped," Buck's voice trailed off, his mind racing with the implications. The thought of being caught again sent a shiver down his spine. He glanced around, searching for any signs of their pursuers. The dimly lit corridor stretched ahead, seemingly endless, amplifying his unease.
Before Buck could finish his sentence, an alarm bell kicked off in his head, piercing through the silence of the underground facility. He instinctively stopped in his tracks, a surge of pain coursing through him. Gripping his temples tightly, he shut his eyes in deep agony as if trying to shield himself from the onslaught of external forces. It felt as though invisible waves were relentlessly pounding against the walls of his mind, attempting to penetrate and manipulate it.
The intensity grew stronger with each passing moment, threatening to push him into the depths of an illusory madness. Buck fought against it with every ounce of his strength.
Buck and Taylor fell to their knees, their bodies wracked with pain. “Channel your thoughts, Taylor,” Buck shouted at the top of his voice. “Concentrate on positive thoughts only. Give all your effort to block them out!”
Fortunately, Taylor had heard Buck's instructions and began to chant over and over in his mind: "You have no power over me." He repeated the phrase, allowing its meaning to sink deep into his consciousness. With each repetition, Taylor felt a surge of confidence building within him. He refused to succumb to the fear that threatened to consume him.
As he continued his mental chant, Taylor reminded himself that the powers of whatever entity he faced were nothing more than an illusion. They held no true authority over him or anyone else. This realization fueled his determination, strengthening his resolve to resist any attempts at manipulation or control.
Taylor firmly believed that he had the ability to reject anything summoned by this mysterious force. He refused to let fear cloud his judgment or weaken his spirit. With every repetition of the mantra, he felt a newfound sense of empowerment coursing through his veins.
In the face of adversity, Taylor chose not to believe in the supernatural abilities that were being conjured against him.
It was working flawlessly. With each passing moment, they could sense their influence bouncing harmlessly off them, failing to make even the slightest dent in their unwavering concentration. It was as if they had constructed an impenetrable fortress around their mind, impervious to any external distractions.
How effortless it all seemed! They marveled at the simplicity of it all - merely blocking out those fleeting impulse patterns that held no tangible form or substance. These impulses were nothing more than insignificant ripples in a vast pond, unable to disrupt the tranquility of their thoughts.
As they delved deeper into this state of mental fortitude, they discovered an incredible power within themselves.
Suddenly, their intense concentration was shattered by a menacing snarl that pierced through the air, causing Buck and Nova to instinctively turn around. As they pivoted, their eyes widened in disbelief as they beheld Nova's once serene countenance now transformed into a mirror image of the feral and untamed expression Taylor had worn during their brutal hand-to-hand struggle in the confining cell.
In that split second, time seemed to stand still as Buck's mind raced to comprehend the inexplicable transformation occurring before his very eyes. The familiarity of this wild animalistic look sent shivers down his spine, for it was a chilling reminder of the raw power and unyielding determination that Taylor had possessed during their desperate fight for survival.
Nova's eyes, once filled with warmth and compassion, now burned with an intensity that seemed to emanate from the depths of her soul. They glowed with an untamed fire, reflecting an inner turmoil that threatened to consume her entirely.
"Taylor, what's happening to her?" Buck asked with horror, his voice trembling with concern.
"Apparently, Nova," Taylor replied gravely, "being a primitive human, is more vulnerable to them than we are."
"What'll we do?" Buck asked, his voice filled with concern.
Taylor sighed, his brows furrowing as she pondered the situation. "Unfortunately, we can't do anything right now," he replied, his tone laced with frustration. "Not until we can get to the source of the ones exercising control over her."
Nova's eyes burned with a fiery intensity as she took slow, deliberate steps toward Buck and Taylor. The glint of the knife in her hand sent shivers down their spines, causing their hearts to race with fear. Buck's mind raced, desperately searching for a way out of this nightmarish situation.753Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYfJ40T0OJJ
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