“I’m talking about your purpose,” I say, my voice low because you don’t need to shout when you hold all the cards. “The reason you were collected and stored here for safekeeping. It wasn’t random. Nothing I do is random. You are here because you have value and today, I am going to give you the one thing you’ve always craved, above all else.”
A flicker of confusion disrupts the hatred in his gaze. It’s a tiny crack, and I pour myself into it.
“Power,” I whisper the word, letting it hang between us like smoke. “You wanted it so badly. You schemed for it, manoeuvred your little pieces on the board, thought yourself a grand player in a game of dynasties. But now, finally, you will have it. Not in the way you imagined, of course. The universe has a far more exquisite, more ironic sense of humour than that.”
Pearce’s jaw works. He’s trying to stay hard, to remain anchored in his anger, but the sheer absurdity of my statement is pulling him adrift. “You’re insane. You’ve brought me here to talk in riddles before you kill me. Get on with it.”
“Kill you?” I laugh, a short, sharp sound that echoes off the sterile walls. “Pearce, I’m not going to kill you. I’m going to make you immortal. Your essence will become part of something far greater, far more powerful than your pitiful ambitions ever could have achieved. You will be the saviour of an empire.”
I rise from my chair slowly, a predator uncoiling. The guards behind him tense infinitesimally, ready to pounce if he makes a move. He doesn’t. He’s frozen, watching me, his mind racing to catch up.
I circle the table, coming to stand beside him. I can smell the sterile, antiseptic scent of his jumpsuit, and the faint, clean sweat of a body maintained in peak condition. He is a perfect specimen. My selection was impeccable.
“Did you know,” I muse, dragging a single, well-manicured finger along the line of his shoulder, feeling him flinch at the touch, “that we’ve been sequencing all of you? A full genomic map. It’s part of the intake process. Blood draws, tissue samples, all so politely taken during your monthly ‘health check-ups’.”
My finger trails down his chest, over the coarse fabric. I can feel the strong, steady thump of his heart beneath my touch.
A good, strong heart. A vital heart.
“We were looking for something very specific. A key to a very particular lock. And you, Pearce? You of all people are a perfect match.”
I stop my finger, prodding gently right over his sternum, right where the muscle and bone cage the frantic, living thing within.
“A genetic match for our Grand Master.”
The words land not with a bang but with a dreadful, sinking silence. Pearce’s frown deepens, the gears turning, turning and then they lock into place with an almost audible click. I see the exact moment understanding dawns. It doesn’t come as a slow sunrise; it arrives as a nuclear blast, bleaching the last of the colour from his face.
The chair screeches against the floor as he lurches backward, his body a coiled spring of terror and rage.
“No.” The word isn’t a shout; it’s a guttural, strangled thing ripped from the very core of him. “You can’t. You can’t…”
The guards are on him before the second syllable is out. They are efficiency personified. One locks his arms in an unbreakable hold, the other presses a gloved hand against his forehead, forcing his head back, exposing his neck. Pearce thrashes like a wild animal, his legs kicking out, connecting with the table, sending it skidding. The sound is a violent crash in the pristine quiet.
I take a step back, watching the spectacle with a detached, clinical interest. The raw, unfiltered humanity of it is fascinating. This is the core of a man,stripped of all pretence, all civilization. This is what a beast looks like facing the abyss.
“Now, now, Pearce,” I chide softly. “This is a great honour. Your heart will beat in the chest of a demigod. You will be the reason he continues to shape the world. It’s more than you ever would have accomplished on your own.”
He screams then, a raw, ragged sound of utter despair that is utterly beautiful.
“Sedate him.”
The door hisses open. The nurse is a small, severe-looking woman in immaculate whites, her face a mask of professional disinterest. In her hands is a pre-filled syringe. She doesn’t hesitate. She moves to Pearce’s straining neck, finds a pulse point amidst the chaos of his thrashing, and presses the device against his skin.
The effect is instantaneous. The violent tension in his body evaporates. The scream dies in his throat, becoming a slurred, incoherent mumble. His eyes, wide with terror, lose their focus, the brilliant blue clouding over like a sky filling with mist. His body goes limp in the guards’ arms, held upright only by their grip.
Silence returns to the white room, broken only by Pearce’s heavy, drugged breathing.
“Perfect,” I murmur. “Transport him to my helicopter, the nurse will accompany us. I want his vitals monitored continuously. He must arrive in perfect condition. His heart rate must be kept stable, his blood pressure optimal. He is precious cargo after all.”
The guards nod, hefting Pearce’s dead weight between them and they carry him out, while the nurse follows.
The thrumof the helicopter’s rotors is a vastly different beast from the hum of the facility. It’s a primal, vibrating roar that shakes through the bones ofthe aircraft and into my own. It’s the sound of imminent motion, of power unleashed.
I stare out the window as the complex shrinks below us, a nondescript series of low buildings hidden within a vast, private woodland.
From up here, it looks like nothing. A forgotten industrial park. Not a gilded cage for the most valuable livestock on earth.
We’ve built facilities like this all over the world in discreet, quiet little corners. We got the idea from a Brethren man who broke the rules more than a decade ago. He’d gotten too big for his boots. He’d thought that because he had a smidgen of power, he was somehow untouchable.
