Nikola Tesla never died. From the moment he stepped through the Breach, he began to change into something evil. Now, his son Petar has escaped the nightmare world of Volos to warn Earth of Tesla's imminent attack. The only problem is, nobody believe...
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PETAR WATCHED AGENT BILL Brodham as he stood and signaled to the guard. He'd already spent too much time here, so part of him was glad the interrogation was finally over. But more than anything, he was frustrated. It had been a long shot coming to the detention center, he knew. One in a million it would work. But it was his last shot. He'd been everywhere else, and sooner or later he knew his luck would run out.
Petar didn't have time for that.
The world didn't have time.
The door to the interrogation room opened. Brodham nodded to one of the guards. A gesture of familiarity. In the dark hall behind them, a flicker caught Petar's eye.
No, no, Petar thought. It's too soon!
A blink later, the world exploded.
Petar had unlatched the handcuffs around his wrists within minutes of being placed in them. Now, he moved fast.
With a flick, the cuffs were off and tumbling to the table. The sharp rraap that could only come from a fermion rifle split the room and the first guard opened from the neck out in a spray of red.
Petar dropped and rolled under the table. An unseen beam of energy hit the second guard at the top of the spine. Viscera fountained from the hollow under his Adam's apple. Brodham was wheeling, slow motion. Too slow. As Petar rolled out from under the table, knocking over the chair in which Brodham had been sitting, he made a spit-second decision and lunged away from the door, shoulder first. He barreled into Brodham's chest and knocked him back. A third energy beam flew from the doorway and hit right where Petar's shoulder was pushing into the soft flesh of Brodham's chest. Its energy dissipated between the two of them. Blinding electric pain sliced down Petar's arm.
Brodham took the main charge square over his heart and tumbled backward from the force of Petar's push. Lunging after him, Petar gripped Brodham by the collar and brushed an index finger across his chest. A thin line of white fluid foamed in its path. It wasn't much, but it would have to do.
Petar whirled and backpedaled until his spine smacked up against the wall beside the door. He fired a glance back at Brodham. The agent was on the floor slumped against the wall, out cold but breathing. The front of his button-down shirt was a charred stain. Second-degree burns for sure, and likely a painful heart murmer for the rest of his life from the quantum surge, but alive. Petar was glad. He liked the guy.
A round blue glow floated through the doorway on Petar's left. He pressed his back tight against the wall and inhaled slowly. The glow was followed by a thin silver rod. Wider at the back. Then a black-gloved hand, clutched firmly over the rod's midsection. Another hand, steadying the rod from behind where it spread into a curved metallic butt.
They'd found him.
It was too soon.
The barrel of the spider-like fermion rifle swept the room from the doorway. Left, across the interrogation chamber toward the one-way mirror. Right, blank walls. The barrel came within inches of Petar's face, close enough to smell the ozone wafting from the glowing quark amplifier in its tip.
