Page 37 of Revenant

No, it’s worse than that. They are aware of the atrocities happening down here. They don’t even bother to try and rescue a bunch of kids being held by a sadistic doctor. Instead, they no longer consider us human, but a threat they won’t hesitate to exterminate.

These aren’t guards…they’re soldiers.

Maybe they’re here to escort me to the lab the others warned me about yesterday, but my subconscious recognizes them for what they are—a kill squad. Something horrible happened. I’mnot worried about myself, I’ve dealt with their kind all my life, but the guys are a different story.

Despite Jaceson telling me they are trained for this shit, I don’t think he understands the type of hatred people who are different receive. The guys have the money and looks to keep most of the seedy underbelly of the world away. They just skim along the surface.

When people like me are taken, no one notices. There are no cops, no investigations—we just disappear from everyone’s memories like we never existed.

No, whatever Jaceson and Gunner planned, they failed, and unease gnaws at my gut like a swarm of angry bees. The guys aren’t dead, I would know if anything happened to them, but survival can be its own hell.

“Step out of the room,” the man in front of me barks, his face harsh as he waits for me to obey. If I hesitate for even a second, he will yank me from the dorm in a heartbeat.

Not that I’m protesting their escort.

If they have Gunner and Jaceson, I have no choice.

Instead of them rescuing me, it’s me who needs to rescue them.

The instant I step into the hallway, I’m surrounded. They’re so close, it’s like they’re sucking the oxygen out of my lungs. I cringe when the sweaty stench of body odor assaults me from every direction.

Just as I take a step forward, a sharp prick of something pierces my shoulder so deep that I swear it scrapes against bone. I slap my hand over the spot, cringing when it feels like I’ve been injected with liquid fire. It burns through my flesh, the sensation feeling like it’s eating away at my insides. I don’t even have time to curse before the world around me darkens. As I crash to the ground in a heap, I smack the floor hard, none of the fuckers bothering to catch me, then I know nothing else.

What could be minutes or even hours later, I blink open heavy eyelids to see an unfamiliar white room. It’s so bright that my eyeballs ache like they’ve been dunked in acid. I quickly slam them close, then suck in a sharp breath between my teeth when my muscles feel like I’ve just been through the most brutal workout of my life. Even the smallest twitch sends a new wave of agony shuddering through me.

As much as I want to wait for the pain to ease, I don’t have the luxury of sitting on my ass. Because if the guys are really here like I suspect, then they’re in trouble. After a minute of shutting down my pain sensors so my body is blessedly numb, I’m able to open my eyelids a crack and focus on my surroundings.

A slew of images wink in and out of existence, some so fast that I barely catch a glimpse of them, others so slow that every detail is shown in torturous detail, a side effect of whatever drug is swimming through my veins.

The ghosts here are different, more aware, almost like they have been waiting for something. When they catch me observing them, the majority of them wink out of existence like a school of startled fish, scattering in every direction.

A few of the ghosts freeze when they catch me watching them, waiting for my reaction. One of the older ghosts, who looks like she stepped out of the eighteen hundreds, glides forward wearing a full nun’s habit. She would almost seem innocent…if not for the copious amount of blood staining the edges of her wimple. She creeps closer, then presses her finger to her lips.

Beware.

Before I can demand answers, she fades out of existence in nothing more than a wispy puff of smoke. With a groan, I sit up slowly, my movements painful despite doing my best to block it out. Everything in the last twenty-four hours is catching up tome—the drugs, hitting the floor when I collapsed, and the fight from yesterday.

When I peer down at myself, I discover most of my burns have already disappeared. I’m uncertain if I should be worried that I’m healing faster and faster or grateful. I don’t have any new bruises, but I doubt it’s because the guards were gentle.

My left arm in particular aches right below the surface, pain radiating from the crook of my elbow every time I shift. I don’t have any needle marks, but since I heal so fast now, I suspect I wouldn’t see any trace.

I focus inward but don’t feel any different.

So, not a side effect of whatever drug is swimming through my veins.

Which means they took something.

Blood.

Maybe I shouldn’t feel violated after the abuse I’ve suffered for most of my life, but I do. I have so little of my identity left that taking anything more from me is beyond infuriating.

As much as I want to wallow in my anger, I’m not afforded that luxury with danger stalking my every step. So, like I have most of my life, I stuff my emotions into a box in the back of my mind and slam the lid shut. If I want to survive, I have to focus on the here and now.

The room looks like some sort of doctor’s office. I’m sitting on top of an exam table, and I take it as a good sign that I’m not strapped down or stripped naked. It’s happened enough over the last few months that I count it as a small blessing. My wrists, ankles, and chest tighten with the phantom pain of being pinned, and I quickly hop off the table to banish the unpleasant sensation.

Rubbing my wrists, I glance around the sterile room for any information, but not even a computer remains for me to hack.

Out of curiosity, I check the door.

---