Teaser Tuesday

Teaser Tuesday – Subject 5691: Petri

With NaNoWriMo finally over and edits on the horizon, I wanted to revisit each of my current works a snippet at a time. First up is the book that started it all. Subject 5691: Petri began as a flash serial based around a photo prompt. That first small snippet, much like Petri, took on a mind of its own and became the start of not one but two series: The Edgeworld Chronicles and the Wolves of Sorrow.

The Edgeworld Chronicles will be a trilogy with Kittryk “The Ravyn” Ravyndaar’s book wrapping everything up. I hope to have that book out sometime in 2023, but a lot will depend on how well I can tie all the loose ends together.

Available in eBook, Paperback, and Kindle Unlimited

“Sergeant, the floor is secure.”

Petri peered through the glass and smirked at the pristine uniform of the young soldier. Ah, the Legion. The very best of the Alliance’s military elite, and they were looking for him. He traced the tip of one fang with his tongue and smiled. Someone important must be upset with his escape. How very… delicious.

“Understood. Jackson, DiGiacomo, and Carlyle, check the northern stairwell. Fredricks, Mitchum. You get to babysit the elevator.”

That voice…

“Fuck me, sarge.”

“Darlin’, I wouldn’t fuck you with Fredricks’ dick.”

He knew that voice.

“Have you seen his dick, sarge? News flash: he hasn’t either.”

“Go fuck yourself, Mitch, if you can figure out which end is your ass.”

The stout soldier made a rude gesture to his friend amidst the laughter and catcalls of the rest of the small company. Petri watched it all with a mixture of rapt fascination and growing dread. He’d never seen such interaction between humans, such casual disrespect that wasn’t met with swift and painful punishment. They issued insults and laughed about it!

“Okay, okay, enough joking around.”

The men separated and quieted. Petri tilted his head and frowned. Not disrespect, then. The soldiers seemed to have plenty of respect for their superior. Was this comradery? He ducked beneath the small square of glass to look through at a different angle. He needed to see the one they called sarge. That voice haunted him in its familiarity.

“Look, I know it’s a shit detail, but it’s got to be done. No naps, no horseplay, and no jacking off into the garbage chutes. Again. Stay alert, and keep the floor secure. Got it?”

After a stolen glance, he leaned against the wall with a sigh. He was right. He did know that voice. The scientists considered combat training one of their most important experiments. They noted how quickly he learned new strategies and techniques. If he was injured, they monitored how long it took him to recuperate and heal. He’d trained with many different fighters from a handful of races, but this human had been his favorite.

After a ten-day training session in which he’d fought criminals and assassins without rest or respite, his muscles ached from the constant battles after months of inactivity in his small cell. Bruises covered a good portion of his body though his skill and reflexes kept him from true injury. Tired, dispirited, and starving from an earlier defiance, his stamina bordered on nonexistent. Sergeant Draxton Larimore entered the arena, fresh and well-rested in his pristine Legionnaire uniform, and Petri considered giving up. It was the first time he hoped it would end with his death.

Larimore, however, had other plans. He took one look at Petri and called a medic. The human demanded they treat his injuries, minor as they were, allow him to rest, and feed and hydrate him before he proceeded. The scientists argued. They threatened disciplinary action. He stood his ground.

Three days later, three glorious days of recuperative sleep and adequate meals, they met again in the gym. The sergeant was an unsurpassed master of hand to hand combat, but he was human. He was slower, weaker, less agile in his movements, but his skill made up for his lack of genetic modifications. He won as many matches as he lost. There were plenty that ended in a draw as well. As a trainer, Larimore was strict and sometime harsh but fair. Most surprising of all, he never treated Petri as less than, an experiment, a thing.

He was the only human Petri respected, and now he’d have to kill him.

Subject 5691: Petri, Available in eBook , Paperback, and Kindle Unlimited