On any other day, he would have thought they were there to arrest him because he’d knocked out a defender, stolen weapons, and hacked the ship’s systems. But these defenders weren’t quite right.
They held too still, their weapons loose at their sides instead of angled defensively in front of them. And their helmets were no longer engaged.
He aimed his weapon and shouted, “Stand down.” They blocked exactly where he wanted to go.
The defenders didn’t acknowledge the order. Didn’t move. Didn’t twitch. Sawyer’s finger flexed on the trigger control.
A hand slapped down on his shoulder. He spun around. His gun flew from his fingers, knocked away with a force that stole his breath. The Calypson fucker stood there wearing a black flight-suit, his eyes glinting. More defenders gathered behind him, their helmets disengaged.
Sawyer reacted instinctively. The fucker deflected his first punch, and the second and third, then his kick. Sawyer stepped back, begrudgingly releasing a portion of ground.
His breaths shortened, and the power behind his strikes became frantic. The fucker was wearinghisclothes, usinghisweapons, pilotinghisship. Sawyer’s rage fueled him, but every attack was met with equal measure. He couldn’t get the upper hand and ceded another section of ground.
A sound whispered behind him, and he turned. The group he’d first encountered advanced.
He was about to be overwhelmed without a way to stop it. Desperate, he charged forward, knocking the fucker back. The others swallowed him in their mass.
The knife came out of nowhere.
He expected a jab to his torso and was caught off guard when it slid up his arm, slicing the sleeve of his stolen uniform. A warm hand met his skin a second later.
And that was all it took.
Sawyer’s limbs froze as something unseen strangled him. It was a splash of cold, then hot, almost like a regeneration bath, but so much more intense. He shouted, then dropped to his knees. Fire scorched his skin, burned over his arms and shoulders and head.
Euphoria followed.
It swept through him on a fundamental level, this pleasure-pain that defied science, logic, morals. His identity blurred, and a collective will took its place.
No.Part of him rebelled against this change even as his mind boiled with new truths, facts, faces.
He understood so much now.
Yes.He was not sure if it was his thought or another’s.
He heard questions and felt desires. An inexplicable calm, an emotionless resolve, replaced passion, loyalty, and anger.
We need to find her.
His curiosity combined with a singular purpose, a need so great that he wouldn’t have fought it even if he could.
They were so close.
His feet moved without a thought, and he stood. Power rippled through his arms, and legs, and skin. He clenched his fists, relishing in this new invincibility. It felt right, like everything up to this point was destined.
His eyes connected with the man in front of him. A wealth of memories passed between them. Volatile emotions evaporated into structured purpose, an intentional path, both into the future and from the past. Everything connected perfectly for him to exist in the here and now.
He left the gun where it lay and turned around. The group of defenders parted for him. He knew their names. Their hopes. Their dreams. Their hidden, horrible secrets, some so similar to his own. Some so much worse.
But none of that mattered as he strode down the corridor to the medical lab.
They needed to retrieve the doctor and take her home.
Chapter thirty-five
Wynn wrapped her arms around her knees tighter and pressed her forehead into her kneecaps until her brow throbbed with insistent pain.
It didn’t help calm her spinning mind, but it blocked out the white glare of the room.
