City of Night (Dean Koontz's Frankenstein, Book 2)
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From the celebrated imagination of Dean Koontz comes a powerful reworking of one of the classic stories of all time. If you think you know the legend, you know only half the truth. The mystery, the myth, the terror, and the magic continue. . . .
They are stronger, heal better, and think faster than any humans ever created–and they must be destroyed. Not even Victor Helios–once Frankenstein–can stop the engineered killers he’s set loose on a reign of terror through modern-day New Orleans. Only the one-time “monster” Deucalion and his all-too-human partners, Detectives Carson O’Connor and Michael Maddison, stand in their way. But as the three race to uncover the true dimensions of an age-old conspiracy, they will discover that Victor’s new, improved models have infiltrated every level of the city’s society . . . and far beyond.
He isn’t dancing. It looks more as if he’s trying to avoid stepping on something.” “Yes, sir. The cracks.” “What cracks?” “The cracks between the floor tiles.” When the escapee passed directly under a camera, Werner’s observation proved to be correct. Step by step, Randal had been painstakingly careful to place each foot inside one of the twelve-inch-square vinyl tiles. “That’s obsessive-compulsive behavior,” Victor said, “which is consistent with the developmental flaws I gave him.” Randal
know how to encourage a guy.” “Now shut up about it. Just shut up. If we go all gooey over each other, we’ll lose focus. If we lose focus, we’re dead.” “Too bad the rest of the world never gets to see this tender side of you.” “I’m serious, Michael. I don’t want to talk about me and you. I don’t even want to joke about it. We’ve got a war to win.” “All right. Okay. I hear you. I’ll stifle myself.” He sighed. “Champ Champion has three testicles, and pretty soon I’m not going to have any,
trees. Yet Randal can see well enough to explore the room. Quietly he opens cabinets, discovering dishes, cups, saucers, drinking glasses. In drawers he finds folded dish towels, flatware, knives, and a bewildering collection of utensils and culinary gadgets. Usually, too many new sights, too many unfamiliar objects, will throw Randal into a panic attack. He is often forced to withdraw to a corner and turn his back to the world in order to survive the shock of too much sensory input. For some
pulling back onto the stairs. Three pistol shots, all wild, but one of them close enough to sing like a wasp past Carson, suggested the wisdom of a change in plans. Even from the brief glimpse she had of him, Carson recognized the man on the stairs. He was the guy in the Mountaineer, the one who had smiled and waved. Figure there were two of them on the stairs, the woman behind him. Figure they were both New Race, and both armed with pistols. To drop Randal, she and Michael had had to
one offering an open pack of cigarettes to the other. Deucalion was revealed by the security lamp above the door and by another directly across the alley from the first. Both men froze at the sight of him. One half of his face appeared normal, even handsome, but an intricate tattoo decorated the other half. The pattern had been designed and applied by a Tibetan monk skillful with needles. Yet it gave Deucalion a fierce and almost demonic aspect. This tattoo was in effect a mask meant to