The second guard buddy spun, eyes widening in his fat face. But before he could choke out an alarm, Reaper threw his blood covered knife. It embedded in the guard’s throat to the hilt and he dropped to the ground.
Reaper let the other man slide free, pulled his knife out of the gurgling guard’s throat and sprang into the air. He cleared the hood of the Humvee and came up behind the other guards, cold-fused efficiency fueling his movements as he sliced through the remaining men.
Chest heaving, he wiped his blade clean on his pants and tucked it back into its sheath. Then he grabbed the nearest guard and drug him over to the panel to the side of the doorway leading down into the lab.
He hefted the man’s arm high enough to lay his palm flat on the sensor. A green light flashed, read his finger prints and the metal doors slid open.
Reaper dropped the man and faced the darkness inside. The general had seriously miscalculated his safety. Reaper wasn’t normal - it had taken him a long time to accept that fact—he was a lethal machine crafted and molded for killing.
The serum had altered him at a molecular level, ridding him of the hindrance of emotions and empathy. In his line of work those things were just a hindrance, wasted energy. They were disadvantages that would get him killed.
And it wasn’t like he needed emotions anyway. With no family, no relationships to speak of outside of his team, emotions were a useless waste of his time. After getting past the initial realization that part of his humanity had been taken from him, Reaper had embraced the change. The ultimate result, while painful, had honed him with the precision of a laser-guided missile.
Project Mayhem had buffed down his rough edges, leaving him invulnerable. The drawback—the two weaknesses—was that he needed the serum to survive and he truly had no idea if or when he may lose control again.
As did his team.
Pulling his Beretta free, he stepped into the darkness. His vision immediately adjusted for the near black out conditions. He could see the familiar outline of another doorway at the bottom of the staircase.
A doorway straight into his nightmares.
A cold chill swept down his back as he descended deeper into the earth. Feelings he’d thought obliterated and dead rose within and he had to fight a clawing sense of dread. He’d thought he would never have to return to this place – the source of his sub-human status.
The distance stretched out in front of him like one of those never-ending hallways from his nightmares, knowing he was willfully walking into a place that had been nothing but fear and torture.
The lab where Dawson had died under his watch.
Reaper fought off the deadly invisible grip cutting off his oxygen. What the fuck was wrong with him? The entire purpose of his mission had been to break into the lab. He’d known he’d be going back inside. He’d been prepared.
Reaper finally reached the bottom and leaned against the cold damp concrete wall, gasping for air. Clammy sweat dripped down his neck. His hands shook.
The glass cells. The injections. Dr. Winters face as she put him through test after test.
Dawson’s body bag…
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
Reaper shook his head, trying to shake free the unnerving rush of memories. He grabbed his temples and squeezed. This place was nothing more than walls and scientists. He’d just taken out a small group of armed soldiers with the ease of a hot knife through ice-cream.
He drew in a deep breath and clutched the pistol.
Jack Mankel was dead. The man who’d talked him down into this hole was long gone. The only other persons responsible for Mayhem were Dr. Winters and General Ranier – and they were both inside. He could exact his revenge right now. This day. With this gun.
But that might take him from acquiring the serum and the source.
And that was a chance he wasn’t willing to take.
Reaper punched in the code to the door and took the last step inside.
He detected a presence around the corner a moment before the man stepped into sight. Reaper launched forward, shoved his pistol into his holster and snapped the man’s neck before he had time to even register Reaper’s presence. The long, narrow hallway ahead of him was lit with blue fluorescent lighting that stung his eyes. He ignored it and focused on the doorway at the end of the hall, moving with caution past open doors leading into empty rooms.
Strange.
These rooms shouldn’t be empty or quiet.
They should be full of staffers and lab rats, beeping computers and high-tech machines.Where were the people?
He poked his head in a room halfway down the hall only to be greeted by empty tables wiped clean of the papers and bottles once covering their surfaces.
