Page 122 of Vital Signs
"NO!" he screamed, thrashing wildly. "NOT MY EYES! PLEASE, NO!"
His entire body convulsed with terror, all pretense of dignity abandoned. Tears streamed down his face as he fought against the restraints.
"I'LL TELL YOU ANYTHING!" he wailed. "EVERYTHING! PLEASE DON'T TAKE MY EYES!"
Misha pressed the scalpel closer, its point just millimeters from Wright's eyeball. Wright's pleas dissolved into wordless, keening sounds of terror.
"The OLEP protocols," Misha prompted.
Wright nodded frantically, words tumbling out in a desperate flood. "Open Label Extension Phase. We push beyond safetyparameters. No ethical oversight. No boundaries. Subjects aren't removed when adverse reactions occur. We continue. We document. We establish physiological limits through... through death if necessary."
"Tell us about Tyler," Shepherd said.
Wright's eyes darted to the scalpel still hovering near his face. "Initial NeuroPath-5 doses caused minor cardiac irregularities. Normal procedure would stop there. I doubled it instead. Wanted to see what would happen. His heart... his heart couldn't take it."
"He died in pain," I said quietly. "Alone."
"Yes," Wright admitted, shame briefly flickering across his features before self-preservation took over again. "But the data was exceptional. Truly groundbreaking."
For a moment, his scientific enthusiasm returned, genuine excitement about his research overriding even his fear. Then he saw the look on my face and shrank back in the chair.
"I mean, it was terrible. Unnecessary. I... I regret it deeply." The transparent lie hung in the air. Whatever remorse he was capable of extended only to himself.
"How many others?" Misha asked.
Wright shook his head. "I can't," he whispered, genuine fear in his voice. "They'll kill me. Victoria Nash doesn't allow loose ends."
Misha nodded to Eli. “Hold him.”
"Six!" Wright blurted, tears streaming down his face. "Six primary locations, dozens of satellites. I'll give you addresses. Names. Everything."
Eli relaxed his hold on Wright.
"The network spans six primary locations with dozens of satellite operations," he continued, words rushing out. "Each site targets specific demographic vulnerabilities. People society has already discarded. People no one misses."
Six cities. Dozens of operations. The scope stole my breath.
"Tell us about the network," Shepherd commanded.
"Eastern Kentucky," Wright began, voice steadier now that he was talking about his work. Despite everything, pride crept back into his tone. "Former mining families. Their respiratory conditions from years underground mask our drug effects beautifully. The Fairbanks facility serves indigenous villages in Alaska. Geographic isolation ensures participation with minimal interference."
The way he perked up when describing his "research" was revolting. Even in his fear and pain, the scientific satisfaction remained. This wasn't just a job to him. It was a calling.
"There’s also Truth or Consequences, New Mexico," he continued, pausing to swallow back a sob. "Three tribal communities. Language barriers and... and historical medical mistrust create ideal conditions for flexible consent protocols."
The words "flexible consent" hung in the air, the euphemism so grotesque it made my skin crawl.
"The Mississippi Delta operation targets agricultural workers," he pressed on, eager to prove his cooperation now. "Transient population with limited healthcare access."
"Jesus Christ," I whispered. The systematic nature of it was staggering. They'd mapped vulnerable populations across the country like mining companies surveying for ore deposits.
"West Virginia coal mining families, Maine logging communities," Wright continued, the words tumbling out faster now. "Border populations in South Texas. Each site was tailored to specific demographic advantages."
A note of pride crept into his voice again, the scientist momentarily eclipsing the terrified captive. "It's really quite brilliant targeting. Nash spent years developing the vulnerability maps."
The momentary return of his scientific enthusiasm earned him a sharp crack across the face from Misha. Wright yelped, blood spraying from his split lip.
"Sorry," he gasped. "I just meant... the methodology was thorough. Not that I approve. I was just following protocols."
