We move fast, vampire speed, carrying us through corridors to the medical wing. Marcellus is already there, along with Dr. Dalton and two security vampires.
Through the observation window, I can see Michael thrashing against his restraints with inhuman strength. The sedation has failed. He's fully conscious and fully feral.
"How long?" Maximus asks Dr. Dalton.
"Sedation stopped working about ten minutes ago. We tried increasing the dosage, but his system is rejecting it."
Michael's eyes are completely black now, no trace of consciousness remaining. Just hunger and rage.
"Keep him contained," Maximus orders. "Prepare to move him to the execution chamber in five minutes. Full restraints."
"He's suffering," I say quietly.
Maximus looks at me, his expression unreadable. "Yes."
He dismisses everyone except Marcellus and me. The three of us stand at the observation window, watching Michael destroy himself in increments.
"This is what Konstantin wants," Maximus says. "What happens when the blood supply fails completely. Vampires reverting to base instincts. Becoming the monsters humans fear."
"Can't you help him?" I ask, even though I know the answer.
"There's only one way to help him now." Maximus's voice is flat, emotionless. But I see his hand clench slightly at his side. "Marcellus, prepare the chamber."
Marcellus nods and leaves. Maximus continues watching Michael for another moment, then turns to me.
"You don't have to watch this."
"Yes, I do."
He studies my face. "Why?"
"Because this is what I'm fighting to prevent. I need to see what happens when we fail."
Something flickers in his expression, approval, maybe, or just acknowledgment.
"Then come."
He leads me to an adjacent chamber, a smaller room with reinforced walls and a drain in the center of the floor. The purpose is obvious and grim.
Marcellus returns with a long silver blade. "Ready."
Maximus takes the blade and turns to me. "Silver stops our healing. A clean strike to the heart, and it's over instantly. No suffering."
"You've done this before."
"More times than I care to count."
Michael is brought in, restrained by three security vampires and heavy chains. Even with their combined strength, they struggle to control him. He's snarling, thrashing, eyes completely black. There's nothing human left in them. No recognition. No fear. Just rage and hunger.
"Michael Torres," Maximus says formally. "You've served this network with honor for twenty-three years. You deserved better than this end. You will be remembered."
It's a ritual. A way of giving meaning to something senseless.
Maximus moves with precise efficiency. The blade slides between Michael's ribs, finding his heart with practiced accuracy. Michael gasps once, then goes still.
It's over in seconds.
The security vampires carry the body away for whatever disposal method Maximus has established. Marcellus takes the blade and cleans it without comment. And Maximus stands very still, staring at the space where Michael died.
