by Russ Linton
Doctor Craft dragged Andre toward the decontamination chamber as he fought, hurling muffled shouts at the soldiers. The visor of Andre's suit fogged with his breath, and his view of the room became cloudy.
A soldier knelt and put his rifle to Steven's temple.
"No!" The gunshot echoed in the lab, and Andre reached out. The soldier stumbled backward, smoke streaming from his rifle and blood dotting the floor beneath him.
"They're locking down!" Doctor Craft's face appeared in the haze of Andre's visor. "Get up!"
Andre clawed his way to his feet.
Doctor Craft raced ahead of him into the decontamination room, where steel plates began to lace across the chamber door. He frantically waved Andre into the room while his eyes tracked whatever horror was taking place in the lab.
Andre didn't look back as more gunshots sounded and a rifle skidded ahead of him. He didn't look back as he leapt sideways through the closing teeth of the barrier. Only when he fell against the far wall of the chamber, hunched and breathless, did he turn and see Steven one last time.
Steven's head was marred with a black powder stain where the gun barrel had been pressed. His pupils were dilated. His face twisted in pain and rage.
The mangled bodies of soldiers smeared the floor. As the last bars of the interlocking barrier slid into place, Steven charged, his feet crunching the concrete floor like fresh fallen snow.
The bars locked and the decontamination chamber rattled, as the mass of what later tests determined to be fifteen tons impacted the door, leaving a blister of extruding steel.
A hiss of gas filled the lab on the other side. Andre huddled against the wall. Doctor Craft clutched his torn suit and hammered on the door into the facility, begging the soldiers outside to open it. A hazy cloud trickled in around the dented steel barrier. It would be hours before they were cleared to be released.
***
Andre stared into his coffee as he sat in the empty break room. His reflection looked alien, a dark, tentacled blob stretched on the surface. He sucked in the bitter aroma, hoping to chase a sleepless night out of his mind even before he'd taken a sip. It didn't work.
He heard a swish of cloth above the ever-present fluorescent buzz, and didn't bother checking to see who was approaching from the hall. This early, it would be a soldier making his rounds. All his fellow white coats would be getting their rest before the big day.
The sound stopped in the doorway. This was enough to pique his interest. Head down, he glanced toward the entry and saw, not tightly laced combat boots, but a pair of loafers and plaid pants.
Doctor Craft.
Andre turned back to his coffee and the odd reflection. "Good morning."
The lights hummed for several heartbeats before he heard an answer.
"Morning."
Doctor Craft crossed the break room and stopped at the coffee maker. An odd medicinal smell wafted after him, like hot upholstery. Mugs rattled. The Doctor grunted a few times and Andre winced at the discomfort in each ragged plea. A mug came down on the counter and set into a wobble, oscillating in long turns before the space between the swish and clunk shortened to a steady vibration and melted into silence. He watched Doctor Craft's arm flop toward the mug and hold it steady while his free hand poured.
Andre grasped his cup with cold hands, drawing as much warmth as he could. He took a deep drink of the steaming coffee without raising his eyes. Doctor Craft returned the pot to the machine, sliding it in place after several failed attempts.
Harsh medicine combined with bitter coffee to form a smell Andre knew distinctly as Doctor Craft. A cloud of it assailed him as the man shuffled by and his lab coat opened. Andre saw a lump of pink, blistered flesh, and closed his eyes to gulp from his mug again.
"See you at the procedure."
He'd said the words and left before Andre finished his cup.
"See you," Andre whispered to the hallway behind him.
***
Peyton was on the table, naked, when Andre entered the lab. Whether it was her nonchalant attitude, or maybe her boyish figure, the guards had lost interest. The observation deck, however, was filled with his colleagues, their awkward banter replaced by a focus on their individual stations.
Doctor Craft sat closest to the window. His aloof presence had always given him a barrier, a palpable aura that the rest of the team accepted as his own space. That was no longer the case. The empty space was for other reasons.
"Nice suit, sir." Her voice sounded faraway through the visored helmet.
"Only a precaution," he said as he approached.
"Why, you don't want to be Augmented?"
He forced a smile and grabbed an IV tree, pushing it across the lab with him.
"Not for me. I'm not a soldier." He hoped, through the layer of plastic and shadow, that she'd accept his smile as genuine. She only nodded again and focused on the ceiling while he buckled the restraints.
He went to work. Alone. Ever since the accident with Doctor Craft, that's how it had been. The others didn't seem to mind that he'd volunteered. They thought it was proper even, given how everything had happened. Andre didn't argue.
There was nothing to the procedure that a single set of hands couldn't do anyway. The other white coats had all finished their tests and prepped the equipment each was responsible for, leaving it ready by the operating table. A combination of drugs and radiation would be fed into her body over the next several hours. He would stay and monitor her vitals, check the infusions, and run samples as the change took place.
Finally, they'd introduce the genetic material. Crimson Mask Alpha was their current go-to injection but they all knew they couldn't expect those same results, only a measure of stability. The mutations that took place, the alterations, were unpredictable and seemingly endless. With Peyton, they were in further uncharted territory.
The one certainty—no two Augments had ever been the same.
"Am I supposed to feel anything yet?" she asked.
Andre glanced at the countdown clock above the observation room. "It's only been a few hours. We're still administering the process."
"How long before I notice anything?"
"We'll need to monitor you. Could be a day or so."
"A day? Maybe a sedative, huh? I mean laying here that long … I can't wait."
"We need you awake. Responsive."
Andre checked the maze of screens around them and turned to her. He'd lost sight of the girl on the table as he went about the routine. She was naked and small under the dangling tubes and hoses. He noted again that her expression was determined and anxious.
At this stage, fear often set in. Even the burliest of soldiers began to rethink the decision. Not many truly wanted the power for the sake of it. They'd been explained the risks. They'd been disabused of their notions of grandeur. With Peyton, something felt different.
"Ms. Saunders, if I can ask, did you undergo the psychological briefing?"
She took her eyes off her focal point and glanced at him. "I took a test, if that's what you mean."
"Yes, that's part of it. But were you briefed on the risks?"
She frowned. "Well, I know everybody's different. I'm just hoping this will …" She paused and looked at the equipment surrounding her. "I'm hoping this can help me become, well, me."
He scrunched his face in confusion.
"Not that I don't know who that is. I mean, that sounds weird. But I heard that the process gives you powers based on who you are. It changes you … turns you into what you really are. Right?"
Andre stared, slack-jawed. He motioned stiffly then turned to the monitors to give his brain time to process.
Once the candidates signed on, they were given information about the program. Nothing about the classified process, but clear, detailed reports about their chances of survival and what they could, or mostly, should not, expect. Her level of understanding was about the same as the gossip at the local officer's clubs over beer and pretzels.
He headed to the intercom. His eyes went to the observation deck where both Doctor Craft and Major General Cooper now stood. Another glance over his shoulder confirmed Peyton was eyeing him from the metal slab, not back to her determined focus as he'd hoped. He'd have to yell in the damn suit to be heard.
"Question for you, Doctor Craft." He released the intercom button and cast about as if he'd find the best way to frame the question lying on the lab floor.
Doctor Craft shambled to the wall and picked up the handset. "Yes?"
"The candidate. I don't think she was properly briefed."
Doctor Craft clutched the receiver in his one good hand. The other hung in a fleshy lump at his side, partly concealed by the lab coat. He stared vacantly out over the lab. "Were any of us?"
Cooper leaned across the doctor and pulled the receiver from his loose grip. "You'll proceed as normal." He returned the receiver to the cradle, his eyes never leaving Andre.
Andre looked to his colleagues and followed their confused glances. As he watched realization dawning on each face, he worked his way toward the back row. Armed soldiers stood along the wall. The decontamination chamber was the only place they were needed. He waited to see what would happen. If one of his colleagues would ask a question, or if maybe Doctor Craft would uncover a shred of who he used to be.
Cooper's stare burned through him. The major general reached for the receiver again. "You will continue with the procedure."
Andre pressed the intercom button. He held it down until static whispered across the lab. "What's going on here?"
"Sir?" Peyton's voice drifted to him from the table but he couldn't face her.
With a careful motion, the major general returned the receiver to the cradle, then disappeared into the adjoining hallway.
Out of habit, Andre wiped uselessly at his visor, the moisture trapped inside. He stared at the door into the decontamination chamber until he saw the soldiers there snap to attention and Major General Cooper step into view.
He wanted to run. A fight-or-flight response; whether it was necessary or not, he didn't know. His wild eyes fell on Peyton, who was watching him from the table. She definitely looked worried now.
He swallowed. "One minute, please." He held up a gloved finger and made his way toward the door.
Cooper stepped into the room and Andre stopped in his tracks. The officer stalked forward, alternating his gaze between him and the table.
Had he gone mad? Short-term exposure to the chemicals, the radiation in the lab, might not outright kill him, but the air was toxic at this stage. Safety parameters required the suit because there were never any guarantees. Extended exposure, well, they had plain evidence for all to see.
Andre fought back his urge to flee and placed himself directly in the predator's path, between Cooper and Peyton. "We can't do this," he pleaded. "I can't let this happen again."
Cooper stopped short. "Again?"
"We can't treat her like this. She's a person."
Cooper grabbed the suit and yanked Andre to the side where a bank of monitors and equipment obscured them from the table. "You can and you will."
"Why? The program is still offline, isn't it? The review? Augments not responding to command in the field? Our accident?"
The grip tightened and the bigger man shook him as he reeled Andre in by a fistful of his suit. "There was no accident. We've all been told the risks, remember? We've lost one hundred and sixty-seven men here, over forty years. I look at each and every one of them, every goddamn day. This place has been here since long before you ever showed up and will be here longer if I have anything to say about it."
"But … your superiors … the guys in Washington. You said …"
"They are planning to re-launch the program," Cooper's eyes lost focus. "Testing on women, just like I said. But not here, where it all started." He released his grip on Andre's suit and smoothed it out, inspecting the crumpled front. "They've got a new facility with a new directive. I'm out of the loop. Need-to-know only."
"Then stay out. What we're doing here is wrong. She doesn't even know what could happen!"
Cooper's eyes turned up. "Can you even reverse things at this stage?"
Andre's heart went into a freefall in his chest. "No."
"Then finish. This is your last warning." Cooper turned and headed for the exit.
As the major general reached the door, Andre slipped out of his stunned silence. "Why?"
Cooper stood in profile, waiting for the glass door to slide open. "Because they need to know this place is still relevant. That you can't just mothball decades of service. You can't cover up those stars on that goddamn wall."
Andre watched him disappear between the saluting guards and through the door. Where did this end? Fine, the program had plenty of successes. Mathematically, those outweighed the tragedies like Steven's. But the girl on the table, she'd been lured here. Lied to and kept in the dark. The worst part—Cooper was right. If they aborted the process now, she would surely die.
***
"So I can't control any of this? What I want doesn't affect the Augmentation?"
Andre shook his head.
He'd given Peyton the briefing she was supposed to have while he administered the rest of the procedure. She'd listened in silence, giving her small nods. A tear had streaked her cheek. She'd been so excited for whatever change she imagined. He'd stopped at the final step, the introduction of the genetic material. The one thing that would begin the chain reaction among the forces already at work in her body.
"And I can either choose to die or finish this?"
"That's pretty much it," Andre sighed. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
She exhaled, her chest falling away from the restraints. "Will it hurt?"
"The transformation?"
"No. When I die."
"I … well …" He checked the monitors. She was flooded with toxic levels of prepping agents. They'd never terminated the process midstream. He could only imagine she would die painfully. Slowly. Of the few he'd seen die after the final stage, he was mostly sure they'd lost their minds. Or, he wanted to believe that in their black stares, they were no longer themselves. "Yes. It will be painful."
Another tear ran down her cheek. Andre awkwardly grabbed a cotton swab and dabbed at the trail. She blinked and held back more.
"Can you make it less painful?"
He frantically ran through the inventory of dangerous chemicals. Instantly a lethal cocktail sprang to mind, but he fought back the formula swimming in his head. There were also the containment measures. They could gas the chamber but he didn't have control over that. "Why?"
"I'm ready to die." She wasn't crying anymore. "I wanted this process because I thought I could change myself. Have some control."
"But, why? I mean despite the risks, the Augmentation process has a decent success rate. I'll be here monitoring. I'll do everything I can to make it go smoothly."
"No." Her hand tightened into a fist. "I'm ready. I wanted to change who I was, not be a super version of what I already am."
"I don't understand."
"You wouldn't." She looked away. "Nobody does."
"I can't—well … I won't just …"
"Kill me."
"Is there a problem?" The major general's voice echoed over the intercom.
Andre pulled himself away from the table and faced the observation window. Cooper stood pressed to the glass, the receiver in his hand and an armed soldier at his side. Doctor Craft was no longer in the room. His colleagues stared, breathless, into the lab and soldiers stood ready in the background. Andre meekly raised a hand and turned back to Peyton. He moved to her side and pretended to check the straps.
"Are you sure?" he whispered.
The tight nod.
Andre moved toward the stand where a syringe prepped with Crimson Mask Alpha waited. He glanced up at the window. All eyes were on him. He could swap the syringe and prep a different chemical quickly, but they'd see it later on the vi
deo feed. The longer he stood there, thinking, the more suspicious Cooper would get. With trembling fingers, he loaded a new syringe.
Then he heard the door to the decontamination chamber slide open.
Doctor Craft shuffled into the lab. Under the full protection of the environmental suit he looked normal, restored to that very day Andre had last seen him in the lab. He remembered fighting when he should've just left. He should've followed the drill and evacuated to let the soldiers deal with the problem. He couldn't save Steven. And Peyton was right, he couldn't save her.
Craft was beside him.
"Cooper sent me to assist."
Andre held the syringe in front of him, unmoving. Assist with what? Murder? Craft reached out and took it from his limp hand.
He watched the doctor shuffle toward the table, carrying the syringe like it were a fragile, delicate thing, guarded against the impending moment where a tiny misstep or quirk of fate would send it tumbling from his hands. Craft stood staring at the needle point long after he'd reached the table. Peyton ignored him, lost again in her thoughts.
Andre watched as the doctor plunged the syringe into his own arm.
"What on earth are you doing?"
Craft doubled over. He fought to breathe. His airways would be collapsing and his veins shriveling into narrow threads. But he wouldn't feel it, not until he was dead. Andre had made sure it would be painless. Peyton was wide-eyed with fear and stared at the syringe bobbing from Craft's arm.
"Finishing what was started," croaked the doctor.
"That's not the vector! Not CM Alpha!" He dropped next to Craft, who hunched over on the floor, his body seizing and twisting in the amorphous mass of the suit. "I'm sorry."
Had Craft been watching him mix the syringe? Did he know it would kill him, or was he insanely hoping that his exposure to the prepping agents had made him a candidate? The entire base had gone mad. Cooper, Doctor Craft, this new recruit lying on the table.
He heard the doors open again. Boots. Peyton's fear shifted to the incoming soldiers then back to Andre. "Do it. Hurry!" She leaned against the restraints and her eyes fell on the far station, where the unused syringe of Crimson Mask Alpha waited. Fear flooded out of her expression and her jaw set. The quick nod.
