★★★★★ "Astounding, outstanding and makes the maze runner series in comparison seem like elementary school games."
In 2051, the United States has fallen. The Western Allied States is the new power in North America, and ruthlessly eradicate any threat to the union. Traitors are executed without trial, their children seized for a secret program.
Runaway teenager Liz wants nothing more than a normal life, but the government’s hunters have other plans. Abducted off the streets, she’s spirited away to a facility deep in the Californian mountains. There, Liz wakes in a cage – and she’s not alone.
Beside her, eighteen-year-old Chris stands wrongfully accused of treason. The two are now volunteers in the Genome Project – an experimental program to enhance the human race. Stripped of their rights, they will soon learn the true depths of human cruelty. The two must work together to survive, but even then, their chances are slim. Of course, only the lucky get to die.
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“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Angela Fallow growled, her heart pounding as Halt turned to face her.
“My job.” Halt’s eyes flashed, and Angela took an involuntary step backwards.
Shaking her head at her weakness, Angela drew herself up. “Your job is to oversee this facility, Halt. Mine is to ensure we have the candidates needed for the project.” Her eyes flickered to the boy lying at Halt’s feet, and her stomach swirled.
The boy lay unconscious on the ground, an angry red spreading around his throat like a rash. He gave the odd twitch as his muscles spasmed, but otherwise he was still, the only sign of life the dull rattling of his breath. It looked like she had arrived just in time. One of the doctors had alerted her to Halt’s interference with his tablet, but she had been on the other side of the facility.
Halt took a step towards her, his fists clenched. “Need I remind you, Fallow, you answer to me.”
This time Angela did not back down. She lifted her head, facing the taller doctor. “Not in this, Halt. The Praegressus project is mine to oversee. Its framework was designed by all of us; we all agreed to follow it while vetting the candidates,” she twisted her lips. “However distasteful some of us may consider the methods.”
Taking another step, Halt towered over her. His eyes burned with rage, and for a long moment, he did not speak. She stared him down, unwilling to break, to give in. Halt had gone too far, stepped a mile past the lines of human decency here. Whoever their prisoners were, they did not deserve to be treated like this.
The breath went from Halt in a sudden rush. Nodding he waved a hand and turned away. “Very well, Fallow,” he said the words lightly, but she did not miss the warning beneath them. He turned towards the watching doctors. “We shall do things your way. But we cannot wait. I want the new round of trials started tomorrow. The final batch of candidates will be needed by the week’s end.”
Swallowing, Angela glanced at her co-workers. They hovered in a group, a mixture of fear and disdain in their eyes. She knew some would support her, eager to do things by the book. But others she was not so sure on. They were more willing to take risks, to press on without concern for the candidates brought to the facility. Or they were just plain terrified of Halt.
In truth, she could not blame them. While she had once regarded the man with respect, since his elevation to head doctor, he had revealed a darker side. Doctors who crossed him were terminated without cause, safety procedures had been cut, and with the subjects, there were no limits to his cruelty.
She eyed him now, silently calculating the population of subjects still to be vetted. There were two hundred prisoners in the facility, with roughly half of them still needing to confront the parameters of the framework. That left a hundred candidates to vet – of which fifty would hopefully survive to begin the experiment.
And that wasn’t even accounting for the final touches she needed to make on the formula.
“A week’s not enough time,” she said.
Halt shrugged. “I’m sorry, Fallow. That’s out of my hands. The directors want results. The people are growing restless, they need answers, and if the government doesn’t provide them…” he trailed off.
Angela sucked in a breath, her eyes travelling over the group of prisoners in their orange jumpsuits. She shivered as she met the boy’s eyes. Christopher stared back at her, eyes wide, the unspoken question written across his face.
She quickly looked away, hearing again the screams of the boy’s mother. Biting her lip, she faced Halt. “We’ll have to skip the resting period. It may result in sub-optimal outcomes.”
Halt waved a hand. He was already moving towards the doorway, leaving his tortured victim lying face down in the dust. “You will find a solution, Fallow,” their eyes met, “I know you will.”
Angela’s breath caught in her throat, but she held his gaze until he turned away. She shuddered as he disappeared through the iron doors, the resistance falling from her like water. A half-muffled groan slipped from her lips, but she bit it back and turned towards the gathered doctors.
They stared back at her, awaiting instruction.
Angela straightened. “Okay, you heard Halt. We need to get these candidates classified. You know the drill.” She clapped her hands and smiled as the other doctors broke from their silent reverie.
One by one, the doctors moved away, each taking one of the orange-garbed candidates with them. She saw Radly take the boy, Christopher, by the arm, saw his hazel eyes turn in her direction. Looking away, she studied a cloud drifting through the sky. Her mind drifted for a moment, remembering again the way Margaret Sanders had fought. The woman had downed a highly-trained Marine, almost killed him in fact.
A mother’s love.
Idly, she remembered her own mother, the way she had fussed over their little family. Despite the wide expanse of the property, they had always struggled, making do with the rations the landowner left for them. But her mother had suffered their poverty with good grace, stewing rabbit bones and baking hard bread in the coal stove.
She imagined Margaret Sanders possessed a similar resolve, a determination to do what was best for her children.
So why, then, had she been so foolish. Her treason against the government had doomed her son, and only by the grace of the government had he not been tossed into an interrogation cell alongside her. She shuddered, thinking of those dark places, imagining the woman’s pretty face bruised and beaten.
Out on the field, Chris had begun to run, as Doctor Radly studied readings on his tablet. The collars transmitted a constant stream of data to the tablets: heartbeat, blood pressure, oxygen levels, and a range of other readings. That information would be used to rank them later.
Watching the candidates, Angela turned her thoughts to what lay ahead for them. She shuddered as a darkness settled on her soul. Again, she reminded herself what was at stake, of the necessity of the Praegressus project. Again, she could not quite convince herself.
Liz lay in the darkness, eyes open, staring out into empty space. Somewhere above was the concrete ceiling, but in the pitch-black she imagined the sky stretched overhead, infinite in its expanse. Only there were no stars, no moon or drifting satellites, and in her heart, she could not convince herself of the illusion.
In her heart, she remained trapped, locked away within the soulless walls of the facility.
She could still feel the boy’s eyes watching her, begging for help, for an end to the torture. A shudder ran through her as she remembered the way Halt had looked at her, the piercing grey of his eyes as he considered her worth. It had been so close, a simple coin toss, and he might have chosen her…
Biting back a sob, Liz closed her eyes, though it made no difference in the darkness. She had wanted to go to him; only Ashley’s hand had stopped her. Instead, she had stood in silence, hand in hand with the girl from the city, as William slid towards death.
In the cell, Liz shivered, a scream building in her throat. She bit it back, and drew the thin cover closer. Goosebumps pricked at her skin as she rolled onto her side. Her body ached and a constant thud came from her temples. The doctors had subjected them to eight hours of torturous exercise, until the sun had finally dropped below the towering walls. By then her body had been little more than a series of bruises. A measly meal of broiled stew had followed in their cell, though in truth it was better than most of what she’d scavenged on the streets. Then the lights had clanked off, plunging them into the darkness.
“You okay, Liz?” Ashley whispered from the darkness.
Liz suppressed a shudder.
Am I okay? She turned the question over in her mind. Silently, she wondered whether she would ever be okay again. At the thought, a yearning rose within her, a need for companionship, for comfort.
“I’m alive,” she replied, then. “What about you?”
Out on the field, Ashley had barely moved while William lay writhing in the dirt. Her face had remained impassive, the only sign anything was amiss was her iron-like grip around Liz’s hand. Afterwards, Ashley had moved through the drills and tasks set by the doctors with an eerie calm, as though her mind were far away, detached from the horrors around her.
There was a long pause before Ashley replied. “I’m alive too.” Her breath quickened. “That’s saying a lot.”
“How long… how long have you and Sam been here?”
Another pause. “Weeks, a month. I’ve lost count of the days.”
“And… And you’ve seen things like that, like today with William?”
Below, Ashley gave a sharp snort. “That, and worse.” She shifted in the bed, causing the bunk to rock. “It only gets worse, Liz.”
Liz shivered, thinking of the icy glances that had passed between Ashley and Sam, and the couple in the other group. “What about the two in the other group, Richard and Jasmine and the rest.”
“What about them?” Ashley’s response was abrupt, her voice sharp.
“You knew them,” Liz whispered softly, aware she was treading on dangerous ground. “Or at least, you knew Richard and Jasmine.”
“You’ll find out soon enough, Liz. Best you not worry about it.”
Liz swallowed. Ashley’s reply brooked no argument, and an uneasy silence fell between them. For a while, Liz lay still, staring into space, wondering at the truth behind Ashley’s words. Below, Sam gave a snort and rolled in his bed. Liz stifled a groan as a rumble came from the boy’s chest and he started to snore.
“The boys don’t seem to be having any trouble sleeping,” she whispered, hoping Ashley was still awake.
“You know what boys are like,” came Ashley’s reply. She could almost hear the girl smiling. “Emotional capacity of a brick and all…” her voice trailed off for a moment. “Sam… he closes it off I think, buries it deep. It comes out in other ways though, his frustration. Like how he reacted to Chris when you arrived.”
“And you?” Liz couldn’t help but dig deeper. Through the heat and torture, the agonising exercise and the hard-faced stares of the doctors, Ashley had not missed a beat. She had smiled through each new challenge, as though privy to some secret joke, and moved with that same fluid grace Liz had first seen displayed in this cell.
When the girl did not answer, Liz pressed on. “You looked so calm, even when…” she trailed off as William’s agonised face flashed through her thoughts.
Ashley had remained impassive throughout it all, only moving once Doctor Fallow arrived to intervene. Her calm had been… frightening.
“I was?” Ashley sounded surprised. Sheets rustled in the darkness. “I wasn’t. Inside I was screaming, but I’ve learned when to keep things to myself, when not to draw attention. Even before this place, it was a skill I’d mastered.”
Liz sat up at that. “What do you mean?”
Soft laughter came from below. “I’ve had a lot of practice, Liz. My parents worked for the government.”
An icy hand slid its way down Liz’s throat and wrapped its fingers around her heart. Her breath stuttered, the cold steel pressing against her throat. She grasped at the covers, fingers tearing at the cheap fabric.
Below, Ashley was still talking. “They worked in Media Relations, of all things. No one important, nothing to do with the President and his people. Just a couple of analysts in a tiny department of our fine administration,” her last sentence rang with sarcasm. “But even two lowly analysts quickly discovered there’s no such thing as free speech these days. Especially for those close to power. They had to learn to wear masks, to hide their true beliefs about the goings-on of the government. By the time my older sister and I came along, they were masters at it. So I guess you could say, I learned from the best.”
“Why would they stay?” Liz tried to hide it, but the question came out harsh, accusing.
A ruffle of blankets came from below her. “Why?” Ashley’s voice trailed off, as though considering the question. “For us, I guess. To give us a better life. They may not have agreed with everything the government did, but they knew leaving was not really an option. Their careers would have been destroyed. They didn’t want to raise their daughters on the streets.”
“Yes, it’s not much of a life,” Liz all but growled.
Ashley fell silent, and for a long while it seemed she would not reply. Guilt welled in Liz’s chest, but she pushed it down. Anger wound its way around her throat, but before she could reply, Ashley spoke.
“Didn’t really matter in the end though, did it? They sacrificed their beliefs, their integrity, so we could live, but it didn’t make any difference. They were found out, and here I am.”
Liz’s anger dwindled with Ashley’s words. It was not the girl’s fault she had been born into wealth, while Liz had been condemned to the poverty-stricken regions. Even so, she could not quite set aside the anger, could not quite let it go.
“Sorry,” she offered at last, her tone still harsh. “It’s just, for as long as I can remember, the government has been the enemy. Even as a child, they were the people who came and took our food, the landowners who held our lives in the palm of their hands. Then, when I was older, after my parents… after they passed…” She shook her head, angry images flashing through her mind.
“I understand,” Ashley’s whisper came from below. “But none of that matters now, does it? Whatever our parents were, whatever we’ve been through, we’ve arrived at the same destiny. We’re both trapped in the same nightmare. You’ll learn that, soon enough.”
“It gets worse?” Liz spoke the words without emotion. Her energy was spent, and she could hardly bring herself to care about whatever new trials the morning might hold.
“Only if you’re human,” Ashley replied.
The words rang with finality and Liz sensed the conversation had come to an end. Shivering, she hugged the covers tight around her. Suddenly she longed to be wrapped in another’s arms, felt the need for human touch. An image of her mother drifted through her thoughts, a warm smile on her lips, eyes dancing with humour.
Biting back a sob, Liz buried her head in the pillow, anxious to hide her sorrow. As she cried, another thought drifted through her thoughts, a question that demanded an answer. One she should have asked. Silently, she cursed her selfish grief.
“Ashley,” she breathed. “What happened to your sister?”
Silence hung over the darkness, and long minutes passed, until Liz was sure the girl had already fallen asleep.
“She’s dead.” The answer came just as Liz was preparing to give up.
The girl’s soft sobs carried up from below, carrying with them the pain of loss.
“I’m sorry,” Liz whispered, the words hollow, even to her.
Ashley did not reply, and Liz lay back on her bed, listening as the girl’s sobs faded away.
It was a long time before sleep found Liz.
Liz stumbled as she entered the room, the sudden, brilliant light blinding her. Stars danced across her vision as the door slammed closed behind her. She jumped at the sound, and almost tripped, before she managed to right herself. Straightening, she blinked again and looked around the room.
Overhead, fluorescent bulbs lined the ceiling, filling the room with their distant whine. Otherwise, the room was unlike anything she’d seen so far. Three walls were covered by white padding, while the third shone with silver glass, its surface reflecting her tangled hair and shadowed eyes. She shivered, seeing the exhaustion in her eyes, the bruises marking her cheeks.
For three days, the doctors had taken them to the outdoor field, and driven them through an endless series of tests and exercise. Unused to the constant strain, Liz had quickly learned that failure meant pain. So she had dug deep within herself, to stores of strength she had not known she possessed, and survived. But now things had changed again.
She took another step into the room, the soft floor yielding beneath her feet. Turning from the one-way mirror, she shifted to face the boy in the centre of the room. His long blond hair hung in dirty clumps around his face, where purple bruises matched Liz’s own. Biting his lip, his eyes flickered around the room, uncertainty writ in his every movement. Behind him was another door, its surface padded like the one she had entered through.
Joshua, she recalled his name from their first day on the training field.
His eyes turned on her as she thought his name. “What’s going on?” he croaked.
Liz shrugged and shook her head. “I don’t know, Joshua.”
They had not spoken since that first day on the field. Ashley and Sam had been insistent, refusing to even acknowledge the other group of inmates. Somehow, Liz did not think their rule applied now.
Before either of them could speak further, a loud squeal interrupted. Liz winced, the hairs on her neck standing up, before the sound died away. A voice quickly followed.
“Welcome,” the voice began, coming from somewhere in the ceiling. “Congratulations on surviving the framework. As you know, only the strongest are needed for the final stages of the Praegressus project.”
Liz crossed her arms and turned to face the mirror. Raising an eyebrow, she rolled her eyes so those behind could see. She was sick of listening to these people, to them acting like they owned her. Collar or no, she refused to be treated like an animal any longer, to bend to their will.
The voice ignored her display of insolence and continued. “Unfortunately, time constraints require us to press on. This phase of the project must be completed by week’s end. This means omitting the standard rest period for new subjects such as yourselves.”
“Hardly seems fair,” Liz muttered under her breath, flashing a quick grin at Joshua.
Joshua shrugged and cast another uncertain look at the glass. They stood in silence for a moment, waiting for the voice to continue. “Regretfully, we must cull our population of candidates for the next phase of the Praegressus project. Only those with the strongest constitutions would survive the final process regardless, and we do not have resources to waste on failed specimens. Thus, today only the best will survive.”
Liz shuddered at the way the voice described cold-blooded murder. She recalled the faces lining the corridor outside their cell. Some of those boys and girls could have been as young as thirteen, the oldest maybe twenty. Their whole lives were ahead of them. And these people wished to snuff them out, to cull them like they were no more than field mice beneath their boots.
Joshua seemed a little younger than her, maybe seventeen at a stretch. He was a little taller too, and bulkier, with the broad shoulders of a swimmer. His amber eyes were watching her now, his fear shining out like a beacon.
“Only one of you will leave that room alive. You must decide for yourselves, whether you possess the will to live. To the victor, goes life.”
Liz clenched her fists, eyes flickering from the mirror to Joshua. She sought out some sign of the watchers beyond, but the glass was too thick, showing only the horror on her face. And the boy’s wide eyes, the hardening of his brow, his fists clenching as he faced her.
Whatever her own thoughts, Joshua had clearly already made up his mind.
Only if you’re human, Ashley’s words from their midnight conversation returned to her.
They weighed on her soul as she watched Joshua, saw his muscles tensing. And she knew in her heart, she too would do whatever was necessary to survive.
The fear had already fallen from Joshua’s face. His eyes swept over her, weighing her up. A smile spread across his lips as he realised his chances of victory were high. There was no question who the doctors expected to survive.
Straightening, he stepped towards her.
Liz quickly retreated. She studied him as they began to circle, searching for an advantage. It was easy to see she was no match for his strength, but she was light on her feet and hoped he might prove over-confident. After two years on the streets, wandering between towns and cities, Liz was no stranger to a fight.
Yet with the padded walls ringing her in, there was no room for mistakes. If he caught her in his long arms, she would be finished. Though she was yet to see how determined he was about his capacity for murder, she didn’t want to test his mercy.
She certainly would not be giving him any second chances.
Joshua gave a sudden shout and leapt towards her, eating up the space between them in a single stride. Liz twisted as he came for her, jumping backwards to avoid his flailing arms, and smiled as he staggered past. Despite his size advantage, the boy was no fighter.
Maybe she stood a chance after all.
Joshua came to a stop near the wall and spun to face her. A wicked scowl twisted his face. Liz swallowed hard and braced herself.
Raising her fists, she nodded. “Let’s get this over with then.”
A low growl came from Joshua as he started towards her again, his footsteps controlled now, each movement carefully measured. Liz spread her feet wide and slid one foot backwards, readying herself. She had no intention of letting him get close enough to grab her, but he needed to be a little closer yet.
As Joshua took another step, Liz gave a low growl and hurled herself forward. His eyes widened as she closed in on him, but close as they were, there was no time to react. Liz slammed her fist into the centre of his chest, aiming for the solar plexus.
Air exploded between the boy’s teeth and he staggered backwards, a half-choked groan rattling from his throat. The colour fled his face as he clutched his stomach, mouth wide and gasping.
Watching his distress, Liz hesitated, guilt welling up within her. Joshua had not been expecting her to fight back, certainly not with such sudden violence. But as he bent in two, wheezing in the cold air, she knew she could not spare him. If she allowed him to recover, he would not fall for the same trick again.
Bent in two, Joshua’s head provided the perfect target. Stepping in, Liz clasped her hands together and brought them down on the back of his head.
Joshua’s legs buckled and he slumped to the ground without a sound. His arms splayed out on either side of him and a muffled groan came from his mouth. Relief swept through Liz at the sound – at least she hadn’t killed him. Maybe they would spare him. After all, they couldn’t have expected her to win this matchup.
Turning to the one-way mirror, she raised an eyebrow in question. As she did, Joshua’s hand shot out and grabbed her by the leg.
Liz screamed as fingers like steel closed around her ankle and tugged, sending her crashing to the ground. The shock of the fall sent the breath rushing from her, and she gasped, struggling to breathe. Pain shot through her ankle as the fingers squeezed. Screaming a curse, she kicked out with her foot, but Joshua surged forward and caught it in his other hand.
Panic clenched Liz’s stomach as she fought to break his grip. Sucking in a lungful of air, she tried to roll away, but his hands held her like iron shackles. However hard she strained, he held her tighter, teeth flashing as his lips drew back in a grin.
In a sudden rush, he dragged her across the floor, pulling himself up as he did so. For a second the hands released her, but before she could squirm free, Joshua’s weight crashed down on her chest, pinning her down.
Hands fumbled at her throat, fingernails tearing at her skin.
Tendrils of horror wrapped around Liz and she lashed out with a fist, catching Joshua in the side of the head. He reeled sideways, but his weight did not shift and she failed to break free.
Recovering his balance, Joshua snarled and raised a fist. Flinching, Liz raised her arm, then screamed as his blow glanced off her forearm and into her shoulder. She swung at his face again, but there was no strength in the blow this time, and it bounced weakly off his chin.
Liz was not so lucky.
Stars exploded across her vision as Joshua’s fist connected with her forehead. Her head thudded back into the soft ground. Distantly she thought how kind it was for the doctors to have provided a padded floor while they murdered each other. Then another blow thudded into her jaw, and the fight went from her in a sudden rush. Darkness spun at the edges of her vision.
Cold fear spread through her stomach as an almost tentative hand wrapped around her neck. She sucked in a breath as pressure closed around her throat. Panic caught her as she stared up at Joshua, silently pleading for mercy.
Joshua stared back, eyes hard, lips drawn back in a snarl. His teeth clenched with rage – whoever he’d been before entering this room, that Joshua was now long gone. He had been burned away, the innocence of the boy replaced by anger, by bitter hatred, and the desperation to live.
Fire grew in Liz’s chest, willing her to action. She kicked feebly, struggling to manoeuvre herself into a position to attack. But his weight was far beyond her strength to lift, and before she could struggle further he lifted her head and slammed it back into the ground. Despite the spongy surface, Liz’s head spun.
She opened her mouth, gasping in desperation, but the pressure did not relent. Darkness filled the edges of her vision as every muscle in her body began to scream. Bit by bit her strength slipped away, replaced by the endless burning of suffocation.
On top of her, Joshua leaned closer, eyes wide with vicious intent.
In that moment, Liz saw her chance.
He was so close, just inches away. She could not miss. With the last of her strength, she clenched her fist and drove it up into Joshua’s throat. The steel rim of the collar bit into her knuckles, but behind it, she felt something give, something fracture with the force of her blow.
The pressure around her throat vanished as Joshua toppled backwards. A low gurgling echoed off the walls as he gasped, his hands going to his own neck, his legs thrashing against the soft floor.
Liz sucked in a long gasp of icy air, her throat burning as air flooded her lungs. A wave of agony swept through her, but she struggled to her hands and knees, still coughing and wheezing. Her head swirled and the room spun, but she dug her nails into the spongy floor and willed herself to remain conscious.
Get up, Liz!
Summoning the last of her strength, Liz pulled herself to her feet and stood swaying in the centre of the room. The white lights burned in her eyes, blinding her, but she clenched her fists, and by sheer will stayed upright.
She looked down at Joshua, bracing herself, and her stomach lurched.
Joshua no longer moved, no longer thrashed, no longer breathed. His mouth hung open, his eyes wide and staring, but the boy was gone. His face was a mottled white and purple, the veins of his neck bulging, and a black bruise was already spreading from beneath his collar.
Joshua lay dead at her feet, his life fled.
Tears ran from Liz’s eyes as she sank to the ground.
The darkness came rushing up to meet her.
Chris watched as William staggered upright, his heart sinking at the thought of another round. But to his relief, the boy’s feet slipped from beneath him and he toppled forward, landing with an undignified thud on the padded floor.
Closing his eyes, Chris let out a long sigh.
It’s over.
The thought offered scant comfort. In truth, it had not been much of a fight. While William was tall and had long arms, there was not a scrap of muscle on the boy. And he had never quite recovered from the first day on the field. Young and inexperienced, he had still been the first to attack, but it was clear his heart was not in it. Chris had easily deflected his clumsy blows and retreated across the room.
Crossing his arms, he had looked at the glass, and shaken his head in refusal.
A loud beep had come from his collar followed by a bolt of electricity that sent him to his knees. Gasping, he reached for the steel collar, but the shock had already ceased.
The voice had come again as Chris climbed back to his feet.
“That was your only warning. Engage with your opponent, or forfeit your life.”
That had been five minutes ago, and despite his reluctance, Chris had had no choice but to obey.
Now guilt ate at his stomach, curdling the measly remnants of his breakfast. William crouched on the floor, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he struggled to regain his feet.
Despite the voice’s command, Chris had still held back, pulling his blows where he could. But as the fight progressed, the boy had grown more desperate, and Chris had been forced to act.
A kick to William’s head had sent him reeling, and he had never recovered.
Now Chris waited, staring into the mirrored glass, struggling to pierce the reflection and find the faces of his captors. Whoever they were, he hated them with a violence he had not thought himself capable of.
The door behind the boy opened with a squeal of old hinges. Chris looked up as two guards entered, followed by a woman in a white lab coat. His heart lurched, before he realised the woman was not Fallow. One of the guards moved across to check on William, while the other approached Chris, gesturing him back against the wall.
Once she was satisfied both prisoners were secure, the woman strode across the room, her lips pursed, eyes fixed on the fallen boy. A wireless headset curled around her left ear, half hidden by the curls of her auburn hair. She spoke as she moved, transmitting observations to whoever was on the other end. In one hand, she carried a sleek steel instrument.
Chris shivered as he recognised the gun-shaped jet injector, identical to the one Fallow had used on him the night he was taken.
The woman who was not Fallow crouched beside William, still talking into her headset. William was on his hands and knees, struggling to find his balance. Reaching out, the woman laid a hand on his shoulder.
“Subject is still conscious. He appears to be suffering from concussion,” her words carried across to Chris. “Assessment?”
A low groan came from William as he turned towards the woman’s voice. “Wha… what happened?”
Chris closed his eyes, guilt welling up within him. He had seen these same symptoms in his Dojang, when younger fighters failed to wear their head guards. Still, he didn’t think he’d hit William too hard, just enough to take the fight out of him.
The doctor was nodding to the voice in her ear. “Affirmative. There would be no purpose in resuming the fight. Administering the injection.”
Before Chris could react to the announcement, the woman leaned down and pressed the jet injector to William’s neck. The hiss of gas followed as the vial attached to the gun emptied. Quickly, she withdrew the gun, stood, and retreated across the room.
On the ground, William raised a hand to his neck, his face tightening.
The woman looked on, face impassive, arms crossed and fingers tapping against her elbow.
Whatever had been in the injection did not take long to act. Chris stood frozen as William began to cough. Then, without warning his eyes rolled back in his skull. A violent shudder went through him as his breathing stopped, then began again with a desperate gasp, as though he were sucking air through a straw. He bent over, groaning, his mouth moving as he tried to speak. Wild eyes flickered around the room, pleading for help.
As William’s desperate eyes found Chris, the spell broke. He started forward, but the outstretched arm of a guard barred his way. Before he could slip past, the guard grasped him by the shirt and tossed him back against the wall. The pads broke the impact, but he staggered as he landed and barely kept his feet.
He looked up in time to see William pitch face first into the ground, a low moan marking his final exhalation of breath. His feet kicked for a second, then lay still. Silence fell across the room as the guard stepped back from Chris and faced the doctor.
The woman walked across the room and crouched beside William. Reaching out, she felt his neck. After a few seconds, she gave a curt nod.
“Subject has expired. Subject Christopher Sanders has passed the framework,” her voice was cold.
“Why?” Chris screamed.
The woman looked up quickly, her eyes widening. Beside her, the guards edged forwards, placing themselves between Chris and the doctor.
“Why?” Chris grated again, taking a step forward.
The woman’s surprise had already faded, though her eyes flicked to the guards before she addressed him. “He was weak. He would not have survived phase two. This was the humane option.”
“Humane?” Chris clenched his fists. “He was helpless!”
“With the concussion, he would have passed without pain,” the doctor spoke with a calm efficiency, as though explaining something to a child.
A wild anger took Chris then, an impossible rage that swept away all caution. Without thinking, he leapt forward, fingers reaching for the woman’s throat. The guards stepped forward to meet him, but Chris never made it that far.
Agony tore through his neck, spreading in an instant through every fibre of his being, taking his feet out from under him. He gasped as he struck the ground, his arms locking, every muscle screaming as a thousand needles stabbed them. A convulsion rippled through him and his limbs flailed wildly. His head thumped hard against the ground, as the reek of burning reached his nostrils. His back arched and he opened his mouth to unleash a silent scream.
When the agony finally ceased, he found himself staring up at the ceiling. The bright light sent a bolt of agony through his head, and he quickly closed his eyes again.
Movement came from nearby, followed by a voice. “Do that again, and we will find someone else to fill your place.”
Chris opened his eyes to find the woman crouched beside him. She held a finger over her watch, a ready smile twisting her lips.
He nodded, swallowing hard as the collar pressed against his throat.
“This is for the greater good, Christopher,” the doctor continued. “Without us, you would all be in the same place as this boy. At least here, we have given you a fighting chance. Trust me, when I say the government interrogators are not nearly as humane.”
She stood then, waving a hand at the guards. “Get him up.”
Rough hands grasped Chris beneath his shoulders and hauled him to his feet. He stumbled as they held him, struggling to control his legs. They jerked and twitched, refusing to obey, but eventually he got them firmly on the ground. Even so, the guards did not release him, perhaps knowing from experience how unstable he was.
“Bring him,” the woman said as she turned and opened the door.
Chris’s eyes lingered on the dead boy as the guards dragged him from the room. William still lay where he had fallen, still and silent, eyes wide and staring from the lifeless husk of his body.
Then they were outside, marching down long white corridors. Distantly, Chris thought they were heading for the cells, but he paid no attention to his surroundings. His mind was elsewhere, locked away in the room with William, his dead eyes still staring.
It’s your fault, the thought ate at him.
William had never stood a chance. The minute they’d entered the room, the boy’s life had been forfeit. These people had known it, had wanted it to happen.
Doors slammed as they moved deeper into the facility. He knew where they were heading now, that he would soon find himself back in the tiny cell. The others would be waiting for him. And they would know, would see the truth in his eyes.
That he was a killer.
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