Page 75 of Victorious

And people.

Speaking of the latter—

“Are the on-shift soldiers gathered?”

Helena nodded. “In the canteen.”

Gabriel rose to his feet, rolling up his sleeves.

Time to get to work.

He made his way between the bodies.

A dozen soldiers lay where they’d fallen, draped across the canteen tables, and sprawled on the floor like the product of some bloodless massacre. A few of them had seen the danger coming, but by then the doors had sealed, the pale smoke pouring through the vents.

It had taken less than a minute for the soldiers to go down, but Gabriel remembered Helena’s warning and kept his hand on the panel twice as long. To make sure they were dead.

Now, the director trailed behind him placidly, tablet hanging from one hand. When he asked, she held it out for him to see the soldiers’ biometric readings.

Twelve flat lines.

Twelve hearts, waiting to be restarted.

Twelve minds, ready to be converted to his cause.

Gabriel knelt beside the nearest soldier. Their eyes were closed, their features smooth, limbs slack as if they’d drifted off to sleep.

Wake up, he thought, resting a hand on their shoulder, feeling the cold against his palm. One by one, he dragged them back from death. And under his control.

By the third body, Gabriel’s head started to pound.

By the fifth, his own bones began to ache.

After the sixth, his vision flickered, and he had to stop and catch his breath, waiting for the world to clear.

No one told Gabriel to sit, or rest, or take a break.

They simply watched, and waited for him to voice a want, a need, an order. But this was a task he couldn’t delegate, so he pressed on, determined to finish the job. His skull pounded as he knelt beside the seventh body.

But as his hand met their chest, a drop of blood landed on the canteen floor.

Gabriel frowned and touched his nose. His fingers came away wet and red. He straightened, one hand braced against a nearby table as his legs nearly buckled. That was when he knew he’d gone too far.

“Helena,” he said, and she was there.

“I need…” he started, then faltered, his thoughts breaking apart. He swallowed, gripped the table, and tried again. “I need…” But before he could find the words, the world gave way, and Gabriel Gray went down, his world collapsing into black.

IINOW. THEN.

IT could have been minutes. Or hours.

Gabriel wasn’t sure.

He only knew that when he opened his eyes, the first and only thing he saw was white.

EON’s medical bay was rendered in the same sterile palette as the rest of the compound.

He had toured it his first day, noting the cluster of exam rooms, the surgery, the sublevel morgue. He’d questioned Helena then, about its role. If it was part of EON’s endeavor to understand its prisoners. She had grimaced and admitted that it had been a line of research once, briefly enacted, and just as quickly put to rest. The branch, as it existed now, was there to handle in-field and on-site injuries. The morgue, to preserve the EOs who had died. For science.