He shook off the momentary discomfort, his focus returning to me with renewed intensity. One finger traced the tear tracks on my cheek, his touch making my skin crawl.
“Your connection with Reaper is particularly significant to us.” Brock’s voice dropped, taking on the quality of scientific excitement. “He was our most thoroughly conditioned operative. A true masterpiece.” His hand moved to my throat, resting there—not squeezing, but a clear threat. “Yet somehow, you created an emotional response in him.”
His fingers tightened just enough to make breathing difficult. “That ability could revolutionize our methods. The question is whether it’s something in you,” his eyes scanned my face with clinical detachment, “or some flaw in his conditioning.”
I closed my eyes, tears still streaming. Each revelation was worse than the last. But beneath the horror, a tiny flame of hope flickered. If I could break through Reaper’s conditioning, maybe, somehow, Xavier wasn’t completely lost either. I had to believe that. If he was going to kill me—orturn me into one of them—I had to have that one last thread of hope.
“This requires a more direct approach.”
The sound of a case opening made me open my eyes. Brock stood before me, holding a syringe filled with deep blue liquid that seemed to absorb the harsh fluorescent light instead of reflecting it. The substance looked unnatural, like liquid midnight captured in glass.
“Ms. Durham, you should feel honored,” Brock said, his voice clinically pleasant as he tapped the syringe. “You’re about to become part of Oblivion’s legacy. Our first female operative.” He smiled, the expression never reaching his cold eyes. “A trailblazer, if you will.”
“No,” I whispered, then louder, “No!” I thrashed against the restraints, feeling them bite into my wrists. My heart hammered so hard I thought it might burst. “You can’t do this! I’m not your experiment!”
Brock watched my struggle with detached fascination. “The conditioning process is quite remarkable. Soon, all these messy emotions”, he gestured at my tear-streaked face, “will be properly managed. Regulated. You’ll thank me later, though of course, you won’t remember to.”
“I will never forget what you’ve done. Never!” I thought of Reaper, how he’d broken through despite everything. His conditioning wasn’t perfect—it had potential for failure. And I’d be damned if I let him break me.
His smile tightened as he moved closer, gripping my hair to expose my neck. “That’s the point, Ms. Durham. You won’t have a choice.”
Iscreamed, bucking wildly against the chair, but the restraints held firm. The needle pierced my skin—a sharp, burning invasion—and I felt the cold spread of the liquid as Brock depressed the plunger, his eyes gleaming with sadistic satisfaction as he watched the fight slowly drain from mine.
My vision blurred, terror clawing through every cell in my body. My head pounded with such intensity I thought my skull might shatter. The room tilted and spun as the drug began to take hold.
“You have no idea how much I enjoy this,” Brock whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “Once you’re fully conditioned, you’ll be quite useful. Perhaps I’ll have you kill those friends of yours—the ones who helped you find this place.” His fingers brushed my cheek in a mockery of tenderness. “Or maybe I’ll keep you for myself first. The conditioning makes for such… compliant companionship.”
I tried to spit at him, but couldn’t coordinate my muscles. The restraints bit into my wrists as I struggled.
“And don’t worry about Reaper,” Brock continued, his voice distant now, reaching me through waves of encroaching darkness. “He’s about to have a reunion with your brother.” His smile was the last thing I saw clearly. “Only one will return. And you won’t remember either of them.”
As consciousness began to slip away, I clung to one thought, repeating it like a mantra: Reaper broke free once. I can break free, too. In my mind’s eye, I saw his face, felt his touch—the man beneath the programming who had fought his way back to humanity.
The darkness pulled me under, but I held tight to that single thread of hope. Reaper. Xavier. Myself. I would remember.I had to remember.
Chapter 14
Reaper
Cold. Pain. Blue.
Distorted faces. Blood-soaked concrete floors. The chair with its straps and electrodes. Deafening screams. A red poker chip spinning endlessly across a green table. A woman with dark hair. Doctors in masks. Syringes filled with blue liquid.
Maeve.
Her name anchored me. The fog receded like a tide pulled by the moon—her name a gravitational force. The poison retreated enough for one clear thought: she should be beside me. The sheets where her warmth belonged were empty.
I inhaled sharply, lungs burning with the effort—wrong scent. No jasmine. No Maeve. Another scent caught my attention. Male. Unknown. Threat.
My body moved before my mind could process. Pure instinct overrode pain signals, flooding my system with adrenaline despite muscles screaming in agony. Blue-black poison lines pulsed beneath my skin as I launched across the room.
I slammed the intruder against the wall, my hand crushing his throat. The effort sent fresh waves of poison coursingthrough my veins like acid in my bloodstream, but I tightened my grip.
“Where is she?” My voice sounded wrong—a toxic rasp like sandpaper on raw nerves. “What did you do with her?”
The man’s reaction wasn’t what my training predicted. The man didn’t struggle as expected. His movements were calculated, defensive blocks without counterattacks. His eyes remained steady, assessing.
“I’m the informant,” he said calmly despite my grip. “We met at my den in Mooca. The USB drive with first-tier data. The conversation through the screen.”
