"Will she regain full use of the hand?"
Dimitri paused with a vial in each hand. It was a remarkably specific question. Not “Will she be okay?” which would have been the polite, surface-level inquiry, but a targeted question about long-term functionality.
"The doctor believes so. With physical therapy and time." He set the vials on his prep tray and began selecting syringes. "Thank you for asking."
All eight bodies regarded him with identical expressions that could have been concern or could have been clinical interest. With Dave, it was difficult to tell the difference.
"We are glad that the damage is not permanent," Number One said.
We.Not I. Number One always referred to Dave as we, even when said through the mouth of a single body. Because Dave wasn't a person. Dave was a collective.
And yet something about the way those eight pairs of eyes rested on him felt personal.
"I'll let her know that you asked after her well-being," Dimitri said. He pulled on examination gloves and began preparing the first syringe.
The administration of the enhancement drugs was a ritual that Dimitri had performed dozens of times. Each body received a carefully calibrated dose, injected into the deltoid muscle, the needle sliding through skin that was denser and more resistant than human or even immortal tissue. He'd learned early on that he needed sharp, high-gauge needles and more force than he would use on a normal patient.
He started with Number One, as always. Swab, inject, withdraw. Number One didn't flinch, didn't react, didn't even blink. None of them ever did. Whether the injection was painless to their enhanced physiology or whether they simply didn't register pain the way others would, Dimitri did not know and did not ask.
He moved to Number Two. Swab, inject, withdraw. The routine was meditative, which was good because it gave his hands something to do while his mind worked.
The cameras were watching. Two in the lab's main room, positioned to cover the workstations, the drug storage, and the injection area. Everything that happened down here was recorded and reviewed.
Which meant that whatever Dimitri said to Dave right now would be seen and heard by whoever monitored the feeds.
He moved to Number Three.
"Dimitri."
He paused with the needle poised over Three's deltoid. Number One had spoken, but all eight bodies were watching him in that unnerving synchronized manner.
"We observed you fighting in the harbor yesterday."
Here it was.
"You displayed strength and speed far beyond what a human should possess." Number One's tone was conversational, almost casual. "You held your own against four trained immortal warriors. How was that possible?"
Dimitri slid the needle into Number Three's arm and depressed the plunger. He took his time withdrawing it, capping the needle, and setting the used syringe in the disposal tray. Each movement was deliberate and unhurried. He was buying himself seconds to think.
The cameras. Always the cameras.
He couldn't tell the truth here. If Losham was informed of what transpired in the lab and learned that Dimitri had admitted to being immortal, the consequences would be catastrophic. Losham would see him as either a weapon to be exploited or a threat to be eliminated, and neither of those outcomes was good.
But he couldn't lie to Dave, either. Not directly. Dave had compulsion abilities, and while Dimitri wasn't sure whether those abilities would work on him now that he was immortal, he didn't want to find out.
He needed a third option. The truth for Dave's ears, disguised as something innocent for the cameras.
Dimitri laughed.
It came out natural enough. A short, self-deprecating chuckle that he paired with a glance upward toward the nearest camera. Just a flick of the eyes, barely perceptible if someone wasn't watching for it, but deliberate enough that a consciousness distributed across eight bodies would catch the signal.
"I think the surveillance footage might tell a different story than what you saw in person." He moved to Number Four, preparing the next syringe. "Those four weren't trying to kill me. Not right away. They wanted to prolong things. Toy with me. Make a spectacle of it." He shrugged, keeping his voice light, casual. "That's why it looked like I was keeping them at bay. I wasn't. They were playing cat and mouse, and I was the mouse. If you hadn't arrived when you did, I'd be dead."
The Eight said nothing. Sixteen eyes watched him work.
Dimitri swabbed Number Four's arm and slid the needle in. "I got lucky, that's all. Lucky and desperate. A desperate man can do surprising things."
The silence stretched.
