Page 48 of Ravage

It's almost weightless when I pick it up and turn it to the side, taking a few steps before I ram the metal pole into the monitor on one of the machines. It just cracks at first, but the second blow shatters it.

Readjusting my position, I swing it like a baseball bat, smashing the equipment into multiple pieces.

There's no rushing—I take my time, making sure every single piece of needed equipment is reconfigured into some type of artwork that takes on a new form of abstract expressionism—a salutation to the rage I feel. Having to pause operations is one thing, but having their expensive equipment trashed is another. I can't imagine the government agency will be too thrilled with Lilydale after this.

When I enter the next room in search of more items to destroy, I'm pleasantly surprised to find a living, breathing body. He's just as startled as I am by my sudden appearance, hands gripping cords attached to the machine as he pauses. It's obvious he's trying to save the machine, likely aware of what was coming. It's not exactly like I was being quiet.

"Well, hello there," I greet coolly. "What brings you here?"

I have to hand it to him—if he's scared, he doesn't show it. Straightening up, his eyes narrow, and it's then I take notice of a syringe laid on the chair next to him. Well, if this asshole thinks he has a chance of getting me with that, he's sadly mistaken.

"You shouldn't be down here," he scolds, like I'm a child who's gone out of boundaries.

"Neither should you," I respond. "But alas, here we both are."

My eyes scan over his white lab coat. It's clear what he is but I'm not interested in that. The only question that I want to know is whether he put his filthy hands on Avery.

He clears his throat, carefully placing the wrapped-up cords atop the machine. "Whatever you are thinking, it's not worth it. I've already called security."

I laugh, gripping the metal pole as my fingers dance along it. "I guarantee you don't know what I'm thinking. But I'm happy for an audienceifthey bother to come."

"Why don't you tell me your name?" he asks, bored. Many doctors have tried to manipulate me, so his stalling, distracting tactics aren't going to work.

"There's no need for pleasantries," I shoot back. "We won't be crossing paths again. But on the subject of pathways—do you know Avery White?"

His face is emotionless but his refusal to answer tells me everything I need to know. He was one of them.

The slimy bastard thinks he's being slick, but I can see his hand edging toward the syringe, trying not to make it obvious. I decide the best thing to do is fight fire with fire.

"What does that machine do?" I ask curiously, distracting him.

I watch as his eyes dart to it, concern finally showing on his face. "It's an ECT machine. It's quite expensive," he grunts, delirious if he thinks that's going to deter me.

"Electroconvulsive therapy?" I mutter, mostly to myself. "Interesting. Has it been used recently?"

Once again, he gives himself away with silence and my fist clenches around the metal pole. It must suddenly dawn on him why I'm asking such specific questions about Avery and this machine, his hand snatching the syringe up.

Before he can get any further, I swing the pole toward him, catching his rib cage and back. He lets out a loud groan, legs buckling as he reaches for the chair to steady himself, syringe falling to the floor.

I take another hit at him, this time purposely aiming for the backs of his knees. The force sends him buckling to the floor, while I step closer, plucking the needle up from the floor.

"I'd ask what's in this," I murmur, looking at the swirling liquid inside the barrel. "But truthfully, I don't care."

My hand shoves the needle into his neck, pressing down on the plunger as his arms fly up in an attempt to stop me. His hand grabs the syringe, ripping it out from his neck but he's too late.

I'm quicker than him, the drug already in his body.

"You stupid, mentally deranged child," he growls, trying to push himself from the floor. Whatever was in there seems to be working fast, coupled with the hits from the metal pole. He's struggling to lift his own weight.

"Not a child, but I doubt that would stop me even if I were," I reply, dropping the pole so my hands can lift him by his lab coat.

Slamming his back onto the chair, I fasten the leather restraints around him, his body getting weaker each passing second. I think he tries to speak but the words are caught in his throat as his eyes roll for a split second.

"You'll have to be patient with me, Doc," I mumble, pressing buttons on the machine. "I'm not sure how to work this exactly. But I'm a quick learner—I'm sure I'll figure it out."

Following the wrapped-up cords, I check it's all plugged in and hit theonbutton. I smirk as the screen flashes to life, grabbing the electrodes and pressing them harshly into the sides of his head.

I lean down so our faces are less than two inches apart, smiling widely at his struggling frame. His eyes roll, regain focus, then roll again as he fights the drug, finally getting a burst of energy to speak.

---