The DJI Anti-Drone Protector, the latest in counter-surveillance tech for privacy-minded property owners, was Jeff's pride and joy as the manager of Babinew's slaughterhouse. He'd bought it for three million Ether—a trivial amount for Barbie Pharmaceuticals' accounting department.
Jeff glanced at the beagle-shaped retro desk clock beside his keyboard. The lazy little pup looked like it was yawning, making him feel a bit sleepy himself. The hour hand was creeping up on midnight—just five minutes to go. He had picked up that clock at a souvenir shop in The Beach mall, the same day he brought the two girls now locked in the basement.
The sight of the little beagle stirred something in Jeff's mind—something faint, foggy, like a memory drifting through smoke. The cybernetic enhancements Babinew had implanted in him, plus the BB drugs he'd been injected with, had steadily erased whatever Jeff once was… or thought he had been. Like ink on printer paper smudged by rain.
Babinew hadn't intended for that to happen, but it seemed the side effects of the new BB formula still weren't quite perfected.
Jeff stared at the two girls curled up together on the cold stone floor of the old wine cellar—now repurposed as a prison—beneath the infamous Jim & Tomson farm. Tomorrow, his master would arrive and transform them into "art"—a creation equal parts horrifying and grotesquely impressive.
Six more monitors lined the desk in front of him, displaying various corners of the farm. The location's haunted reputation meant it was unlikely to attract intruders, but Jeff preferred caution. As Babinew's gallery caretaker, he took pride in thoroughness.
Sitting in front of the array of monitors made Jeff feel like one of those brilliant spaceship operators in the sci-fi films he used to love.
"Let's see how you're doing, Ingrid," Jeff muttered, pressing the 1 key on the keyboard. The screen changed to another basement room.
Inside stood Babinew's three latest "works of art": Rosa Nigra (Black Rose), Rosa Alba (White Rose), and Rosa Ruba(Red Rose).
Of the three, Jeff liked Rosa Alba best. He still called her by her original name—Ingrid. A delicate, curly-haired seventeen-year-old girl he'd kidnapped last year. Babinew had done unspeakable things to her. Blue BB pills. Cybernetic spinal implants. A neural enhancement system that turned her into something else entirely.
Jeff smiled faintly at the sight of her curled on her bed, resembling nothing more than a quiet, moody teenager. But he knew better. If he pressed the activation button on her heart, Ingrid would become a weapon. A monster.
Babinew called them artworks, and honestly, Jeff agreed. It was the most fitting word.
Beep-beep-beep!A blinking light snapped Jeff's attention back. His anti-drone detector had picked up movement.
He frowned. At first, he thought it might be a bird or a bat. But the $3-million Ether system locked onto a hovering, bladeless drone. Definitely not wildlife.
"Well, hello, little bird. Let's see who sent you," Jeff giggled as he switched camera feeds.
On one monitor, three men in tactical gear appeared, walking past the farm's front gate.
Jeff laughed gleefully.
"Ingrid, looks like you've got company tonight."He picked up a black remote, shaped like a car key fob, and slid it open. Two buttons—one red, one green—sat inside. Jeff pressed the green one once.
Down in the gallery, Ingrid's small body jolted violently like she'd been shocked with electricity.
"Go on, Ingrid," Jeff said, voice almost trembling with excitement. "Go welcome our guests."
It had been a long time since he felt this kind of thrill. Jeff licked his lips, then turned back to the locked drone on-screen and pressed the targeting button.
Boom!
With a sharp hiss through his teeth, Jeff exhaled, grinning as he watched the drone explode into shrapnel mid-air.