“Mind control.” Sabin’s right hand tightened around the lockpick. “You’re talking about mind control.”
“Such a crude term for such elegant science.” Cook stepped closer, syringe in hand. “We prefer to think of it as optimization.”
Sabin struck without warning, hand darting forward with the ceramic pick aimed at Cook’s eye. But his movements were sluggish from days of restraint and malnutrition. Cook caught his wrist mid-strike, twisting it painfully.
“Always testing boundaries.” Cook didn’t sound angry, just clinically interested. “That’s valuable data.”
The door opened, and two guards entered—not the tall one, but others Sabin recognized from previous shifts. They seized his arms, forcing them behind him while Cook watched impassively.
“You won’t get away with this.” Sabin thrashed against their hold. “Vivi won’t give you what you want. And if you think you can use me against her?—”
“Your sister will retrieve the research because she believes it will secure your freedom. By the time she discovers the truth, it will be irrelevant.”
“She’ll burn you down.” Sabin bared his teeth in what was more snarl than smile. “She’s not someone you want as an enemy.”
“I believe that’s true.” Cook nodded thoughtfully. “Which is why once we’ve tested the protocol on you, she’ll be our next subject. Family units respond well to synchronized programming.”
Sabin lunged forward despite the guards’ restraining hands. “I'll gut you myself if you fucking touch her.”
“The protective instinct.” Cook made a note on a tablet he pulled from his pocket. “Excellent. That’s a trait we can repurpose.”
The guards wrenched Sabin’s arm forward, exposing the inside of his elbow where the gauze from the earlier blood draw was still taped.
Cook swabbed the area with an alcohol pad. “This initial compound prepares the neural pathways. Think of it as clearing the canvas before we paint the masterpiece.”
Merde. Here it comes.
Sabin struggled violently, but the guards’ grip was like iron. “People aren’t code you can rewrite.”
“That’s exactly what they are.” Cook slid the needle into his vein. “And we’ve become quite good at programming.”
The plunger descended. The milky liquid disappeared into Sabin’s bloodstream.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then heat exploded through his arm and raced up toward his shoulder. When it hit his heart, he thought he was going to explode. The pain was like nothing he’d ever felt before.
“The initial response can be quite dramatic,” Cook said, stepping back as Sabin began to convulse. “But it passes.”
Sabin couldn’t respond. His muscles seized, his back arching against the chair as electricity seemed to race along every nerve ending. His vision fractured into shards of light and color. His jaw locked, teeth clenched so hard he tasted blood.
Darkness crept in from the edges of Sabin’s vision as the convulsions intensified. The last thing he saw before consciousness slipped away was Cook watching, making notes on his tablet.
Connard.
The convulsions eased. Slowly, then all at once, like a tide pulling back. His body went limp, and the guards restrained him again, yanking his wrists together behind his back.
He raised his head. It took longer than it should have.
Cook was writing something on his tablet. “First response was strong. That’s a good sign.”
“Wha…” The question wouldn’t come. His tongue was too big for his mouth.
Cook ignored him, still making notes on his tablet as he walked out.
The door closed. The locks turned.
Sabin sat in the silence and stared up at Bayou. His body was limp against the restraints, completely drained, every muscle spent. The room was very quiet, and he could hear his heartbeat.
Real bad, that.
