Chapter 2

At half past seven, a full four hours after the Magyar had concluded that MA was dead and had consigned her body to rape and experimentation, Spencer and Toynbee stood at the door to the lab, while Toynbee fumbled with the key. They had found the belt in a storeroom next to the torture chamber and had taken it without asking anyone's permission. They planned to disassemble it and find out its secrets.

"The Magyar won't like this," Toynbee whispered, as Spencer slipped the belt from under his lab coat.

"The Magyar need never know," Spencer replied. "Besides, if we find something useful, he'll probably give us a bonus."

They entered the lab like schoolboys up to a bit of mischief. MA's body lay peacefully in the middle of the floor.

"Well, which should we take apart first — the belt or her?" Spencer asked jauntily. This adventure had boosted his spirits.

"I'm not sure," said Toynbee. "I guess the belt can wait. She can't — unless we freeze her."

Spencer looked down at MA. "Here's another idea," he said. "This belt protected Ms. Americana when she was alive. What would it do now that she's dead?"

"Dangerous, Spencer. Very dangerous."

"Why? You're a scientist. You know the dead do not rise."

Toynbee remained doubtful. "If you're convinced the belt cannot revive her, why put it on her? What's the point?"

"The point, Dr. Toynbee, is to see if the belt protects her body even in death. To see whether or not it will allow us to — in the words of the incomparable Corgi — 'rip her open.'"

"Yes. Yes, I see. A very different matter," said Toynbee. "So you don't think she'll..."

"Be restored to life and come after us like the unkillable villain in a slasher movie? Of course not."

"Well, then, perhaps we should give it a try. If the belt blocks us from doing our work, we can always take it off."

"And disassemble it — and her," added Spencer triumphantly. It was the first time he had ever taken control of an experiment in the four years he had worked for Toynbee. He felt elated and powerful.

They lifted MA back onto the examining table and laid her face down. Then Spencer raised her midsection while Toynbee slipped the belt under her.

"There doesn't seem to be a conventional buckle," the older man muttered. He held the two ends of the belt a few inches apart, just above the small of her back.

"You're right," said Spencer. "Well, it probably works by magnetism. When the two ends get close enough, they lock into place... like this." He reached over and pulled Toynbee's hands together.

There was a sudden snap, and the belt was all in one piece, as if it had never left its owner's body.

"Well," said Spencer, "that takes care of that." He sounded nonchalant, but inside he was nervous.

Toynbee was nervous, too. "So, what do we do now, my young Dr. Frankenstein?"

"We test its protective powers." Spencer opened a drawer and took out a surgical knife with a gleaming, five-and-a-half-inch blade. He held it just above her left buttock, then pushed. The blade indented her flesh but didn't enter it. He pushed harder. Still no incision. He raised the knife and brought it down with all his strength.

Still, no broken skin. Not a drop of blood.

"Mein Gott," said Toynbee.

MA's body jerked. It was a small movement, but both men saw it.

"Mein Gott," Toynbee repeated.

Now MA began shaking violently.

"Get the belt off of her," Spencer yelled. Toynbee reached for the belt, but his hands ran into a jolt of electricity that sent him reeling backwards.

Spencer slashed desperately at MA with the knife. The blade broke off, and he found himself holding only the stainless steel handle.

MA's tremors had pushed her to the edge of the table. Suddenly she fell off and landed with a thud on the floor.

They looked down at her. Her eyes were open, and she looked up.

Without a word of consultation, the scientists bolted for the door. Spencer was quicker and got through first. Toynbee was only a half second behind, but when he stepped through the doorway, he staggered and clutched his chest. His last coherent thought consisted of a single word: thrombosis.

He fell dead even as MA was rising unsteadily to her feet. She had no idea where she was. She remembered nothing since the Magyar had showed her a silvery wand in the torture chamber.

She stepped over Toynbee's body and looked around the hallway. There was an elevator door few feet from her. Further down the hall was an illuminated exit sign.

Must be a stairway, she thought. Safer than the elevator. They'll probably come by elevator.

She ran to the exit, opened the door carefully and looked into the stairwell. There was a single flight of stairs going up, probably to the roof. She looked down. It appeared she was on the top floor of a three or four-story building. A door opened below and she heard excited voices.

Going down was out of the question. She raced up the stairs and came to a metal trap door. She tried the handle. It was locked. She closed her eyes, mustered all her strength and pushed up as hard as she could. Her feet slipped and she bounced back down the stairs to the landing where she had started.

"I hear her," someone yelled below. "She's trying to get out on the roof."

There was a loud bang, and a bullet ricocheted off a railing just inches from her.

The lab. Maybe there was a window or a fire escape. Two more shots rang out. A bullet grazed her belt and veered off into the darkness.

She rolled into the hallway, jumped up and headed for the lab. Another shot rang out, and the slug hit her in the middle of the back. It knocked the breath out of her, and she fell to her hands and knees.

When she tried to get back up, Mastiff clubbed her with the butt of an AR-15. She sank back to the floor.

"Looks like Toynbee bought the farm," said Wolfhound, breathing heavily after rushing up the stairs.

"Just as well," said Mastiff. "Boss would've killed him. I can't wait to see what he does to this slut." She slipped her boot under MA's belly and flipped her over.

"She ain't that good-looking," said Wolfhound. "You think she's good-looking?"

"I think she's the most beautiful woman I ever saw," answered Mastiff. "And I hate her fucking guts."

"The question Spencer raises is an interesting one," said the Magyar. He was standing on the back steps of his manor house, and he spoke loudly to his security staff, who had gathered in the cobbled courtyard between the house and his seven-car garage.

"Ms. Americana's magic belt restored her to life, but it did not save her from being recaptured. Why? And why was Mastiff able to knock her unconscious? It is true she was shot in the back and suffered no major injury, but in days gone by the belt would have protected her even from the force of impact. A bullet would never have touched her."

He paused and looked over at Spencer, who sat tied in a chair, with Corgi guarding him. Spencer wore the resigned expression of a condemned man.

"What do you think, Dr. Spencer? You raised these questions — no doubt to keep yourself alive a little longer. But they are good questions. You are a scientist. What's your guess?"

"I don't know," Spencer said glumly.

"Speak up, we can't hear you," the Magyar shouted.

"I don't know," Spencer said, loudly this time. "I don't think it was because of any defect in the belt. This is only conjecture, but I think something happened inside Ms. Americana."

"Inside her? Indeed it did," roared the Magyar, with an insanely wide smile. "Deep, deep inside her. What happened is that Miss American Pie got thoroughly fucked by my swizzle stick and nearly died with happiness. In fact, she did die. Am I not correct, Spencer?"

"Yes. She appeared to be clinically dead when she was delivered to the lab."

"And she was dead when you and Toynbee fucked her, was she not?" yelled the Magyar. There was scattered laughter in the crowd.

"Yes, sir, she was dead when we..." His voice trailed off.

"When you what?" demanded the Magyar.

"When we fucked her," Spencer screamed. Then he burst into tears.

"Have no fear, Spencer. No will fuck you when you're dead. You have my word on that." More laughter from the crowd.

"But now, let's get a fresh look at the young lady who has caused us so much trouble." He gestured, and Mastiff and Wolfhound led MA out the back door and onto the steps. MA again wore the choke collar — but the belt was gone. So was her cockiness. Her head was bowed, and her dark hair covered her eyes.

The Magyar grabbed a handful of that hair and yanked it so that the crowd could see her tear-stained face.

"Still beautiful, isn't she?" he yelled. "And look at these boobs." He grabbed her breasts with both hands, digging his polished fingernails into her flesh. She flinched but uttered not a sound.

"Yes, she is still quite a woman," he said. "What she is not, however, is a superheroine. Even with her belt, she could not escape us. She has been broken. I broke her. My magic wand proved more powerful than her magic belt."

He stood in front of her. She looked down, evading his eyes.

"Look at me," he said in a low voice. "Look into my eyes, slut."

She raised her eyes. There was a flash of defiance, but it died in an instant. She was a defeated woman.

"What must I do with you?" he asked.

She didn't answer. He nodded to Mastiff, who jabbed a wooden dowel into her rectum. MA jumped and gasped.

"He asked you a question, slut," hissed Mastiff.

"I'm sorry," MA sobbed. "I didn't hear it."

The Magyar repeated slowly, "What must I do with you?"

Mastiff slid the dowel back and forth across MA's behind, ready to goose her again.

"Let me go — please," MA said in a small, desperate voice. "You've already destroyed me. Please, spare my life."

The Magyar smiled, turned to his "associates" and spread his arms, as if offering a blessing.

"She says she wants to live," he cried out. "She says I shouldn't snuff her. What do you say, sisters and brothers?"

"Kill her," they roared in unison.

The Magyar stepped aside, giving the crowd a full view of MA. At that instant, Mastiff again jammed the dowel deep into her ass. MA rose on her toes, her face twisted in pain.

Whatever else it might be, this death would not be dignified.

They did not feed her for four days. She grew weaker and weaker. To make matters worse, they put a diuretic in her drinking water. She constantly had to pee, and she quickly lost ten pounds.

The Magyar had decided that he would kill her barehanded, and he wanted to make sure she had no fight left in her when the time came. Mastiff and Wolfhound contributed to the effort by roughing her up every few hours, under Corgi's supervision.

"She's a lot weaker than she was, boss," Corgi said after the third day. "She could barely stand up when they went at her today."