Jekyll & Hyde Inc.

Two larger-than-usual creatures in ill-fitting suits stood guard outside the banquet hall. Daniel and Tina charged down the corridor and killed both creatures while they were still reacting. Daniel didn’t hesitate, and didn’t care. He helped Tina move the bodies away from the door, and glanced quickly up and down the corridor.

“I’m not seeing any sign of backup. I can’t believe they thought they could get away with just a couple of guards.”

“Typical Frankenstein arrogance,” said Tina. “They couldn’t believe anyone would dare attack them at their own gathering.”

Daniel tried the door. To go with the hotel, the door had an old-fashioned latch on it. It was locked.

“Do we break it in?”

“Too noisy,” said Tina. “Fortunately, I never leave the house without these little beauties.”

She produced a set of skeleton keys, some of them looking rather high tech, and had the door unlocked in a moment. She eased it open, and slipped quickly through the gap. Daniel followed her in, and quietly closed the door behind them. The huge banquet hall was brightly lit by a series of elegant chandeliers, and packed full of long tables with pristine white tablecloths, all but buried under the very best in food and wine. There were floral displays and ice sculptures, and all the trappings of wealth and power. No expense had been spared—or even considered, from the look of it. Sitting at the tables were hundreds of perfectly ordinary-looking men and women in exquisitely tailored outfits. No surgeons in blood-spattered gowns, no mad doctors with staring eyes, no faces steeped in evil or marked by a lifetime’s cruelties. They could have been any business community, come together to attend a formal dinner and celebrate the year they’d had. Except for the rows of oversized creatures standing inhumanly still as they watched over the diners.

At the end of the hall a distinguished-looking man was on his feet, addressing the Frankenstein Clan.

“Once again, it’s been a very good year. Rich and powerful people the world over owe their extended lives to the very special organs we provide—and we are careful to never let them forget that. Our researches continue: into rejuvenating the deserving old, enhancing the lives of people who matter, and learning all there is to know about life and death. We lower our hands into human depths, and create marvels. We are the cutting edge of Humanity!”

He stopped, so they could applaud him and one another. The clapping went on and on, as though they couldn’t bring themselves to stop. In the end, the speaker had to raise an admonitory hand before the self-congratulation reluctantly died away.

“But . . . we are still struggling to achieve the eternal goal of the Frankensteins,” the speaker said sternly. “To bring the dead back to life. Our patchwork creations always seem to lack something. A certain vitality. It’s almost enough to make you believe in souls . . . ”

The people at the tables laughed politely, and some glanced briefly at the creatures standing behind them. Nothing moved in the empty faces that looked back.

“But not anymore!” said the speaker. “Allow me to present something new; restored from the grave, rejuvenated and remade . . .  Dead tissues infused not only with life, but the beginnings of intelligence. A new hybrid creation, worthy to serve the Frankenstein Clan! I give you: the perfect slave!”

He nodded to two men standing by the rear door. They opened it, and wheeled in a metal frame holding a naked, hulking creature, standing upright and secured in place by lengths of heavy steel chain. Surgical scars crisscrossed a body bulging with muscles, but it was the eyes that caught everyone’s attention. They were alive and aware—and driven to the edge of madness. The new creation knew what he was, and hated it. A dead man walking, going nowhere. Just alive enough to know he still had both feet in the grave. Tears ran jerkily down his face. But even this horrible awareness was totally different from that of a normal Frankenstein creation. The whole of the Frankenstein Clan rose to their feet, laughing and cheering and madly applauding.

Daniel felt sick to his soul. For all their fine words, the Clan had produced nothing more than a reanimated corpse that knew what it was. He looked at Tina.

“He doesn’t want to be rescued,” she said flatly. “Let’s get out of here. The bomb will kill him, along with the rest of the Clan.”

“What if the bomb isn’t enough?” said Daniel. “We have no way of knowing how strong the Frankensteins and the Elixir made him.”

“We can’t rescue him without giving away our presence, and putting the bomb at risk!” said Tina.

“We have to do something!” said Daniel. “Would you want to go on living like that?”

Tina looked at the new creation, and shook her head.

“No. But what can we do?”