"Before Dawn"

Chapter 13: Wesley's Fate

The Master and the imp-man are deep in the bowels of the long shut-down meat factory. The humongous Power Station room is The Master's dominion of choice. Hundreds upon hundreds of candles are strategically placed throughout, their flames casting dancing shadows on the walls, floor, and decrepit machinery. The whispers of The Void echo around them. The Master and the imp-man are not alone. Wesley Price—unconscious and strapped to an office chair that had seen better days—is with them.

"My essence is strengthening this host rather nicely," The Master said, pacing in circles with his hands clasped behind his back.

"That's good, Master. Very good," the imp-man said.

"Indeed. I'm quite certain that our fiasco at the medical facility will draw out the hunters. I must be ready to face whomever will dare to do battle with me."

"Master, you are great and powerful. You don't need to concern yourself about any hunters."

"Do not get complacent."

"You are safe here. They will not—"

"Silence!" The Master booms, dropping his servant to his knees. His voice is so full of venomous strength that the candles flicker and nearly extinguish. The whispers of The Void cease their squabbling. "The hunters are relentless and dangerous. Do not underestimate them."

The imp-man remains on his knees—frightened. "Yes, Master".

"It seems that my warranted outburst has awakened him," The Master said.

Confused, the imp-man looks up at his liege. The Master is pointing at a baffled Wesley Price scanning the Power Station room with eyes as wide as saucers.

"The hell am I?'" Wesley mumbles, his voice hoarse. Instinctively, he tries to get up from the chair but the rope holds him fast. He looks down and notices his predicament. Then he looks up and sees Reynolds—with red eyes—approaching him. "Mac?"

The Master smiles and the candle light sparkles off of his gleaming teeth.

"When did you get out of the hospital, bro? And where the hell are we?" Wesley asks. A familiar smell hits his nostrils.

"So many questions, this-one has," The Master said.

Then the thing Wesley saw at home appears out of the shadows. "Yes, he does," he said.

Wesley freaks out, screaming and kicking at the sight of the thing. Spittle flies from his lips. Mac and costume guy laugh at him. Then Wesley gets it. "Okay. Ya'll got me, alright? Ha-ha, very funny," he said, letting the tension seep from his body. Mac—always all business—wasn't known to play these type of games, and got someone to put on a costume to go in on it and everything. This is all some elaborate joke that started back at his pad. He couldn't quite explain the snakes-thing, figured his super-high was used to their advantage.

All the damn whispering he can hear is coming out the speakers—wherever they're set up at—is a creepy touch, too. Wesley had heard that Mac had been shot up, like, real bad and here he is, clowning around. It doesn't even look like a bullet even graze him. Wesley waits for Mac and the guy in the smelly-costume to let him out of the chair.

The imp-man stands. "What shall we do with him now, Master?"

"You guys can stop the bullshit now," Wesley said. "Let me out of this damn chair."

The Master and the imp-man glower at him, and move closer.

"Look, Mac, you can take out those eye-contacts...," Wesley starts with a knowing smile on his face, looking up at him. Then with a quick glance to the guy in the costume, "and whoever you are...you two can stop this, too. Seriously. This joke is done and played out."