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All human. All recently removed from their victims. The victims who were still there.
Two men and two women lay on metal gurneys lined up in the middle of the room. Each body was torn open and butchered in a different way. But they had one thing in common. They were all victims of Samil’s horrific experiments.
She moaned, putting a hand against the doorframe to keep from sliding to the floor. Their gaping chest cavities and bloody torsos reminded her of Wall’s. Of the way he’d been torn apart and dismembered. Evidently he hadn’t just been a threat, but an experiment.
But what the hell was Samil doing with these people? Renna tightened her muscles and forced herself to approach the body parts in their stasis trays. They looked like large carry-out boxes made of clear poly-plastic. Each body part was surrounded by bright blue liquid.
The first held a human heart. It lay on its tray, pink and shiny and clean. Perfectly normal. Renna was about to move on to the next tray when it convulsed in a mockery of a heartbeat.
And again.
And a third time.
Renna stumbled backward as the pair of eyes on the next tray swiveled to look at her.
Holy hell. Samil had created living implants.
A sob broke free, and she squeezed her eyes closed until she could pull it together. Her whole body trembled, and every breath she took burned her nose with the scent of blood and chemicals. She had to get the hell out of here. Now.
Renna backed up until her rear hit the door. She couldn’t rip her gaze from the motionless bodies and their now-living parts. Who had they been? Had they volunteered for Samil’s experiments because she’d promised them a better life?
Obviously she’d lied.
Renna wasn’t religious, but she sent up a prayer to whatever gods these people believed in that they hadn’t suffered at least. The woman on the end didn’t look much older than Renna, with the gaunt cheeks of someone who’d had too much clay and not enough food.
She paused, one foot out the door, then spun to look at the girl again. Her heart jackhammered, sucking the breath from her lungs.
Renna knew her.
Annet Perra had lived in the Izan tenements where Renna grew up. She’d been ten years older, but she’d always been nice to the little kids. When she got a little extra money from the manufacturing job she worked, she’d buy them candy or an extra piece of fruit.
Renna’s gaze dropped to the woman’s arm—or where it used to be. Her forearm and hand were missing. Industrial accident, most likely. And she knew firsthand what happened to women who could no longer work in the factories. They did what her mother had. They turned to prostitution.
But why would Samil use this girl? Was there a connection or was it merely coincidence?
Renna frowned at the Annet’s body. Knowing Samil, there was no way in hell this was coincidence, but she didn’t have time to investigate right now. She chewed her lip, glancing between the body and the door. Leaving Annet here in this place felt like a betrayal. Tenement rats stuck together—that was the first law of growing up in that place. But the girl was beyond help now. And Viktis was still alive.
Sending a silent apology to the girl, she slipped back out the door and closed it behind her. She curled her trembling hands into fists. Samil was the monster here, not these poor people.
Shouts echoed through the facility as the men searched for Renna. There was only a matter of minutes before they found her again. She squared her shoulders as she faced the last door.
She couldn’t make the same mistake she’d made with Samil. No matter how injured Viktis was or what horrors she found in that room, she needed to stop Larson first. No matter the cost.
Renna tried the door handle. It moved easily, the door swinging open on silent hinges. Clutching her lockpick, the only weapon she had, she stepped into the room. Her gaze darted to Viktis, still chained to the wall. He didn’t even raise his head as she took another step.
Was he even still alive?
“Nice to see you again, Renna.” Larson leaned a shoulder against the wall, lips twisted in a sneer. “Dr. Samil thought you’d head this way. I’ll be more than happy to take you to her. After I’ve had a little fun with you first.” He snapped a finger at the med-drone floating behind him, and it vibrated as its sensors kicked in. “She only needs your mind to work, after all. Perhaps a little pain will make you behave.”
One of the drone’s spindly arms extended as if it was excited to get started.
“Did you know Dr. Navang?” Renna ignored the needle sticking from the drone’s arm and glanced around the room. Larson had pushed the empty metal gurney to the side, and the tray table with his torture tools took up half of the far wall. Viktis’s blood streaked the man’s hands, speckles of it dusting his face like war paint.
Her whole body shook with anger, but she needed to be smart.
“Of course,” he said with a nod. “He was a brilliant man.”
“Not so brilliant when I cornered him in his lab. He had lovely, sharp scalpels.”
Larson raised an eyebrow. “Why does this matter?”
“Because I slit his throat. And now I’m going to do the same to you.”
The major chuckled. “I love that you’re still so optimistic. Your files never indicated you had that streak. Give up, thief. You’re trapped here, and no matter what you do, Samil will use you to take down MYTH. It will go much easier for everyone involved if you’d cooperate.”
“I’ve never been much of a team player.” Renna shrugged. “Then again, neither have you. Getting your men killed in a botched mission, the sexual harassment, all those written reprimands in your files. I’m surprised MYTH didn’t court martial you.” Larson’s lips parted in surprise, and she smiled. “Your files indicated you were a f**king ass**le.”
He growled and launched himself at her. “I’ve had enough of you.”
But Renna side-stepped easily, spinning around so she occupied the space Larson had just left. A few steps back and she’d have a whole tray of weapons at her disposal.
Behind her, the med-drone whirred and spun, but it didn’t attack.
“Move another inch and your friend is dead,” Larson warned. He strode to the wall and jerked Viktis’s head up.
An electric shock collar circled Viktis’s neck.
“State-of-the-art torture device,” Larson said. “I can program instant death by injection or merely shock my captives. Depends on my mood. And right now I’m not feeling very charitable.” He pressed the button on the controller in his right hand and a zap of electricity shot through the collar.
