Prologue
Eighteen Years Ago…
Legratia Pharmaceuticals, Eugenics Lab, Sublevel 2
Pain. Excruciating pain. He’d been an experiment the entirety of his life. Seventeen years. As one of the oldest hybrids to survive past infancy, he’d endured some of the worst treatment, both psychologically and physically. He’d been cut into, burned, starved, and exposed to killing temperatures of both heat and cold; viruses and bacteria had been introduced into his system, all to test his limits and the limits of the healing gene spliced into his DNA. All to become the next evolution of soldier. He thought he knew the meaning of pain. He’d been wrong.
Through all of those other experiments, when his body finally reached its limit, he would shut down, a welcome oblivion. When he woke, whether minutes later or hours, depending on the damage done, the pain would be gone, and any injuries repaired, healed thanks to his hybrid genetics. Not this time. He didn’t know how long he’d been unconscious, but his face still felt like it was on fire.
“Why didn’t he heal?”
Through the haze of pain, he recognized Doctor Anne Dietrich’s voice, the lead geneticist who had created him and all the other hybrids. She’d been the one to spray him with the venom while a handful of other white coats and experiments like him, his brothers and sisters, who were undergoing their own procedures, looked on. He blinked, trying to bring her into clearer focus, but the vision in one of his eyes was cloudy and distorted as if he was viewing her through a sheer white curtain.
“Maybe he needs more time?”
That was Doctor Humphries’ voice, a perpetually nervous little man who always looked like he was one sharp reprimand away from bursting into tears.
“Perhaps his energy is low,” Doctor Dietrich replied thoughtfully. “Bring him back to his cell, and supply him with plenty of high-energy food to restore his levels. We’ll check again tomorrow.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
As they wheeled him away on a gurney that they must have strapped him to while he was unconscious, he heard Doctor Dietrich add, “At least we know the venom Subject 7279S2C6 produces in her glands can be used as a viable weapon. It would seem it doesn’t lose potency if stored in a canister like we feared. Bring her. We’ll need to extract more.”
Locked back in his small, windowless room, he sat on his narrow bunk and, gritting his teeth against the pain, tentatively touchedhis face. There were no mirrors in any of the cells; the doctors were too afraid the experiments would smash them and use the shards as a weapon, so he couldn’t see the damage. But he could feel it. Despite his body shutting down to heal, the side of his face they’d sprayed the venom on was still painful to touch. The burns were raw and oozing, his flesh swollen in some places while deep grooves marked others.
Food and rest. Doctor Dietrich was likely correct. For optimal healing, his body needed food and rest. He would give it both.
It took days for the pain to finally fade, but despite his best efforts to boost his body’s ability to heal, his vision never cleared up in that one eye. The wounds had scabbed over, giving him a small bit of hope that when the crust naturally fell away, the skin underneath would be healed. That hope had died a quick death. Doctor Dietrich had confirmed he was permanently disfigured. Her only commentary was to remark, “It seems the healing gene does have its limits.”
Fifty-eight days later, soldiers under the command of Colonel Marshall Davies raided the facility, apprehended the scientists, and freed him and his brothers and sisters. He was seventeen years old, and it was the first time he’d felt the sun on his face and breathed fresh air into his lungs.
For the first time in his life, he could look forward to the future as he said goodbye to the cruelty of the lab.
Only to discover the cruelty of the world.
He and the others were transported to a covert military base on Black Bay Island off the coast of Virginia. He’d been promised a chance to live a relatively normal life, and he was excited to start. A new beginning, filled with possibilities. His first inkling that things wouldn’t be all that he had hoped was realized the moment he stepped off the transport. People stared at his scars. Some openly, without bothering to hide their shock or disgust. While others quickly averted their eyes, their discomfort plain to see as they hurried away as if they thought his disfigurement was a disease they could catch by being too close to him.
He hadn’t fully understood their reactions, not until he was shown to housing, and he took his first real look at his reflection in a mirror. While his good eye was a blue-green color, the other was clouded with a milky white film. Above his scarred ear, his hair had grown back in small, dark, patchy clumps. Worse, one entire side of his face was a dark pink color with pits and grooves that made it look like his face was a wax sculpture that had begun to melt on one side.
With a bellow of rage, he smashed the mirror, obliterating his reflection. He understood now. Their shock and horror; their fear. He looked like a monster.
Chapter One
Present Day
Norfolk, Virginia
Erik swallowed hard as he looked at the opera house. Built of pale stone, the gently curved center portion that was flanked by two towers and tall cypress trees was marked by three sets of double doors, which, before a show, would be opened to welcome the flow of ticket-holding guests. Above that, five, wide, evenly spaced windows rose two stories high that he knew at night, would glow with illumination from the massive chandeliers that hung inside. It was one of his favorite places to visit. He’d sit outside in a covered Jeep with the windows rolled down so he could hear the music. Today would be the first time he’d ever gone inside. His hands shook at the thought of what he was about to do, so he stuffed them in the front pocket of his black hoodie.
It never got easier, meeting new people, and witnessing their reaction to his face. No matter how far he’d come over the years, those first few moments – the facial expressions they couldn’t hide –always set him back. And now he was going to voluntarily open himself up for more pain? Was he crazy?
You don’t have to do this, he reminded himself. No one was forcing him. He could turn around right now and go back to Black Bay, and no one would say shit to him.
“Hellooo!”
At the sound of that exuberant hail, Erik turned on his heel, the white pea gravel he was standing on shifting under his boots.
An older man was walking briskly toward him, smiling broadly and waving his hand in a sort of wait-for-me gesture. His hair was snow white, parted on one side and curled into some sort of flip on the other. His full cheeks were rosy, perhaps from the brisk fall weather, and he was sporting a neatly trimmed white goatee.
