Page 76 of Victorious

Gabriel hadn’t visited the quadrant since.

He’d intended to, of course.

Once the other soldiers had been seen to.

Gabriel’s thoughts coalesced. That was what he’d been doing. Why he’d collapsed. Disconcerting—but important—to discover he had limits, to know exactly what they were.

He took a questing breath. Flexed his fingers. The pain in his skull had retreated, the ache in his body not gone, but dampened, in a way that suggested medical intervention. He looked down and there it was—an IV taped to the back of his left hand. He reached to pull it out, only to find he couldn’t.

He was restrained. Strapped down like a quarrelsome patient.

No, he thought, tensing against the cuffs.

Like a prisoner.

For the first time since stepping into EON, Gabriel felt a prickle of fear. The animal awareness of a cage.

“Dr. Gray.”

A man swept in, tablet in one hand.

“Who are you?” demanded Gabriel.

“Dr. Andrews,” he said stiffly.

“Why am I strapped down?”

“You collapsed.”

“That doesn’t explain the restraints.”

“Tests showed some strange neural activity.” Andrews looked from the tablet to him. “But I’m more concerned with what happened after you collapsed.”

On the monitor, his pulse inched up. “What do you mean?” he asked through gritted teeth.

Andrews stepped closer, producing a penlight, and swept it across Gabriel’s eyes. He flinched at the brightness, that dull ache reaching through the medicated haze.

“I mean,” said Andrews, “that the moment after you collapsed, three members of staff in this quadrant stopped what they were doing. Like programs freezing. And when I examined one of them,” he said, putting the penlight back in his pocket, “they showed no neural activity at all.”

Frustration flashed through Gabriel. At Andrews, but also at himself, for not knowing that would happen, for not thinking to test the exact tension of his tethers.

“Which leads me to wonder, Dr. Gray, if there’s something you’re not telling us.”

Gabriel sighed. “I want to speak to the director.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” said Andrews, “I called her as soon as you woke up. I think she’ll be very interested to hear—”

Just then, Helena entered, the stone-faced soldier trailing in her wake.

“Oh good,” said Andrews. “Director, I have reason to believe—” but that was as far as he got before Gabriel said, “Please shoot Andrews in the head.”

Helena smiled. She didn’t have a weapon on her, but the soldier behind her did. She turned and withdrew the handgun from his holster.

The doctor had just enough time to register surprise before she fired once, at point-blank range.

Gabriel had to admit, if only to himself, that the headshot wasn’t strictly necessary.

But it was worth it. To wipe the smug expression off his face.