The Collectors Romane & Geschichten

"The bedroom is down the hall. I'll take the couch." "Marcus, you don't have to—" "I'm not letting you sleep on the couch." His voice was firm. "You're my priority. Remember?" I smiled despite myself. "Okay," I said. "Thank you." "Don't thank me yet." He looked at me. "The Collectors are getting bolder. And I have a feeling they're going to come for you soon." "When?" "Before the apocalypse. They want to catch as many of us as possible before everything falls apart."

"It's guarded by one of the Old Court's strongest members. A being that calls itself the Collector. It gathers souls like humans collect art." "Then we visit the Collector," I said. My voice was steady despite the fear churning in my stomach. "And we show it what it's like to be collected." Through the bloodline, I felt my assembled team. Felt their determination. Their fear. Their desperate hope. And through the bond, I felt Caspian. Felt his love. His certainty that somehow, we'd find a way. But I also felt something else. Through the Truthsight, through the bloodline, through every sense I'd developed.

"Dr. Sarah Chen sends her regards. She asked me to tell you something. The other facilities? We didn't get them all. Torres had partners. Other researchers. They're still operating. Still experimenting. And they know about you." Emma's blood goes cold. "What do you want?" "To warn you. They're coming. For you. For your sisters. For everyone Torres enhanced. They want to finish what he started. And they won't stop until they have what they need." "Who are they?" "People with money. Power. Resources. People who think enhanced humans are the future. They'll offer you a choice. Join them willingly. Or be taken forcibly. Either way, they get what they want." "I'll fight."

Her mind was burning with questions and anger and she would not rest until Aremin gave her answers. A group of men were whispering at the other end of the room. “The collector will show up tonight aye?” One of them asked, so hairy she could barely see his face through it. “I have it on very good authority that he will. Relax, there’s hours yet.” A second man said, his eyes so tiny it looked like he was peering into your soul. “What use have you with the collector?” The third man asked, as bald as the first was hairy. “I thought you didn’t believe in superstitions.”

History suddenly felt much larger than the books he had spent his life studying. Every civilization. Every forgotten kingdom. Every unexplained disappearance. Could they all be connected? Another tremor rolled through the chamber. This time several candles went out completely. The shadows lengthened across the library. Evelyn glanced toward the entrance. "We should leave." Elias slowly shook his head. "If you leave now..." "...they'll find you before sunset." Adrian turned. "Who are 'they'?" The old Archivist looked directly into his eyes. "The Collectors." Silence settled across the room.

"Show me where the contract changed." The grin on Marcus's face disappeared. "What?" "The payment schedule." Adam tapped the table. "You said things changed." "I did." "Show me." Marcus remained silent. Adam nodded. "Thought so." The large collector finally spoke. "Listen here—" “Quiet.” The collector blinked. "What?" Adam finally looked at him. "You don't look smart enough to be part of this conversation." The tired collector immediately started coughing to hide his laughter. The large man's face darkened.

“I need to talk to your boss.” The man laughed and looked like he was about to pull the trigger. But then someone else stopped him. Another man stepped forward. He was shorter and covered in tattoos. Lance recognized him. He was the one who always came around collecting money. “Where is my sister?” Lance asked angrily. The man crossed his arms. “Where’s my money?” “I paid you this month, you had no right to take my sister she's a child” The man laughed. “And you think that’s enough?” he said. “You’ve owed us for years. You haven’t even paid half.”

Somehow, it evoked images of my Dad’s flesh collection; a pig’s heart, a shredded skin of a criminal, a freshly picked fingernail, and other parts of human anatomy he stored inside a giant refrigerator up to our attic located at the highest floor of our house. Disgusted, I wiped my hands with my shirt and stood up to proceed to the lockers where everyone were already there. It only cost me a minute of careful treading before I finally reached the spot. “Where the fuck is the janitor?” Philip yelled, “It’s now eight yet the lights were still off!” he added as if it would help us at the moment. He was useless. He was nothing but a pure talker. A Leonardo Dicaprio of the star section but minus

"Actually, yes. It's believed to bring together the energies of the sun and the Earth to help alleviate depression and foster optimism. It helps fill the gap between wishing and having. It's also known for stimulating reproduction. Seems rather perfect, regardless of the outcome." Her words seeped in, and a smile crossed my lips. She was right, it was perfect, and it was Annie. "Where the hell am I going to find a Tiger's Eye?" "The Miner's Mart downtown." I looked at her like she'd sprouted a third eye. "It's one of those places kids go to for their birthday parties. Damn, Brett. You need to get in the know if you're going to have a baby." She winked at me and wrote down the address.

A gamble that risks us both. We talk. For hours. In the dim light of the workshop, surrounded by the ghost of his sacrifice, we tear it all down. The pretense. The noble lies. The fear. And we find it. The only other choice. We will not pay. We will default. The twist is not a weapon. It’s a stance. A decision. The collectors come as we knew they would. Not with weapons. With a silent, inexorable pressure. A cold that has nothing to do with temperature. A presence that begins to unravel the edges of our home, of reality itself.