Had Ranier downsized the operation after they escaped?
At the end of the hallway, he lifted his foot and kicked in the door. The steel banged open and satisfaction curled through his very bones when he saw the large, stainless steel refrigerators standing just where they had been before.
Reaper crossed the distance, tucking his gun into his waist band, and yanked the door open.
Empty shelves greeted him. Not one bottle of serum.
Where the fuck were the drugs?
Heavy footsteps sounded outside the door. Reaper spun, grabbing the pudgy middle-aged technician around his throat and lifted him off the ground.
Reaper slammed him into the wall and the technician’s glasses flew from his face and cracked on the floor. The low-level hum from the fluorescent lighting overhead became a dull roar in Reaper’s ears and his fingers tightened reflexively. He ground out, “Where is it?”
Eyes wide, the technician clawed at Reaper’s grip, but it was like butterflies swatting at a mountain lion. Reaper eased his muscles incrementally, just enough so the tech could suck in enough air to speak.
“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” the tech gasped out.
Anger poured through Reaper’s veins like lit gasoline. He choked the man again, lifting him higher. “Do not lie. I will kill you.”
The technician’s face turned purple and his eyes bulged; Reaper held him like that for a few more seconds, allowing the man to see the wrath he’d rain down on him if he didn’t comply.
“The truth,” Reaper lowered the tech to the ground and loosened his grip once more.
“In production,” the technician gasped.
“What does that mean?” Reaper growled.
If he didn’t have the serum, he couldn’t survive and neither could his team. The thought of letting them down was enough to make him want to eat a fucking bullet. He would never fail his men again. Ever.
“We’re making more right now. Th-th-there are only a few left.”
“Where?” He had to find the remaining serum. That much was obvious, but he needed more. A vial would only get them through the next month.
The technician, sweating bullets and shaking enough to make his teeth chatter, tried once more to pry Reaper’s hand from his throat, but the effort was just as futile as it had been before. “In the lab. Subject room 5B.”
A series of images flashed through his mind—a cubicle behind one-foot-thick impenetrable glass, lab technicians staring at computer screens, studying every minute movement he and his team made. The memories ripped through him, clawing his insides.
The technician’s choking, gargled noises and kicking legs brought Reaper back to the present.
He drew in a breath and forced his grip to relax. “You have another team.”
“No, nothing.” The technician shook his head frantically. “Not yet.”
The angry hair on the back of Reaper’s neck stood on end. “Not yet?” He punctuated each word. “Never again.”
Understanding flashed in the tech’s eyes and he paled, whatever small amount of blood had still been in his head leaching south. “You were an original.”
What the fuck did that mean? “Original” implied there were others, more like him and his team. But there clearly weren’t any enhanced soldiers here right now.
Relief swept through him. Deep inside, Reaper knew he wouldn’t be able to leave another team behind in the clutches of Project Mayhem. Now he didn’t have to worry about that. Not right at this moment. He turned his attention back on his mission. “Why are you making serum in one of the subject’s rooms?”
“The general said he wanted to see the test subject. That means you have someone in there.” With Reaper’s team out, there shouldn’t be any teams training. Who could they possibly be studying now?
“Yes, subject A. Lab room 5B.”
A high-pitched alarm blared in the distance, the screeching sound waves piercing Reaper’s ear drums. He bowed over in agony, grabbing his head with his one free hand. The pain was like sharp knives digging into his brain.
“What’s wrong? What do you hear?”
