My breath caught in my throat at the name; a vision of that soldier’s face, young and unlined, growing purple from the effort to stay alive, was so bright in my mind.
“Minimal permanent damage to the heart, despite clinical death, thanks to your resuscitation efforts. He’s going to be fine.” He paused. “You really are quite capable of amazing things, 107.” He sounded impressed, pleased, but there was a layer of smugness beneath it all, as if to say, “Of course you are. Because I made you.”
Then he walked up the stairs and away from my cell, whistling, his shoes clacking happily on the tile floor.
My fingernails dug into the vulnerable skin of my upper arms, the pain sharpening my focus and reminding me of my true purpose.
Oh, Dr. Jacobs, you have no idea what I’m capable of.
I lowered myself into push-up position on the floor and sent that second stack of books into the air, where they held steadily for the first time.
Two more days.
“107,” DR. JACOBS SNAPPED.
His voice over the sudden pop of the intercom jolted me awake. I sat bolt upright, my heart pounding in triple time.
I blinked rapidly, trying to reorient myself, the rush of adrenaline making me shaky. I was in a cell at GTX, just like usual. Well, the usual for the last three weeks, anyway. My eyes were gritty, and my neck had a painful kink.
I tugged at the collar of my tunic, which was damp with nightmare-induced sweat. In the dream, I was being chased by an unseen enemy, while Zane, a pale spectral vision with a blood-soaked shirt, watched in the distance. And no matter how hard or fast I ran, I couldn’t seem to get any closer to him, nor could I shake my pursuer.
Nothing like your subconscious to be as subtle as an anvil to the skull.
“I said, how soon can you be ready to go?” Dr. Jacobs sounded brusque, annoyed even, at having to repeat himself.
I looked for him at the door first but found him instead at the observation window above me, his forehead pinched with irritation. I wondered how long he’d been trying to wake me.
“Go?” I repeated dumbly. “Now?” The trials weren’t until tomorrow. I hadn’t been asleep for that long.
“How soon?” he asked again, through clenched teeth.
“I don’t know…fifteen minutes?” I shook my head, trying to clear it. What was going on? This was odd.
“Excellent,” Jacobs said. “I’ll make the arrangements. In the meantime, please be clean, dressed, and ready to go as soon as possible.” Strangely, his words were clipped, completely devoid of the arrogant, anticipatory triumph I’d expected from him on the day before his “great victory.”
I frowned up at him.
He avoided my gaze. Like that would help him. The trouble with creating an alien/human hybrid that can sometimes read minds is that sometimes that mind is yours.
“You’re upset about something.” More than just my unwillingness to be conscious at his command.
…Laughlin behind this. I’m sure of it. Why else would they…Security will be almost impossible and 107 has run before…He must have told them…otherwise, why select such a location…
“They changed the venue. No,” I amended, listening more intently to his thoughts. “The venue isn’t what you thought it would be.” Interesting.
“Enough, 107,” he said sharply. “I have clothes for you.” He nodded at someone to his left, and a tech appeared at the door, watching me with open trepidation written on his face and shrieking at me from his brain.
I remained still as he opened the door and hurled a pile of clothing—bra, underwear, socks, jeans, and a shirt—and a pair of shoes in my general direction before pulling the door shut again.
“There’s a meeting this afternoon for all the participants and their companies to make sure everyone has an equal understanding of what is expected of them and what will constitute a fair win,” Dr. Jacobs said, his mouth puckered as though the words tasted sour.
How complicated could it possibly be, I wanted to ask. Wasn’t pretty much the only rule, “Kill or be killed”? But those words lurched to a stop on the tip of my tongue as the ramifications of this meeting’s existence sank in. My plan had been to win the competition while looking for the opportunity to end everyone involved in it, one by one and over weeks or months if necessary. But if I understood Dr. Jacobs correctly, all the major players would be in the same room today.
My heartbeat increased until I could feel my pulse in my fingertips. Was that even possible? Could I finish this before it even began? Taking on multiple opponents at once made it riskier, but if I got it started, maybe Ford and Carter would join in.
I fought the urge to grin.
“—both know, it’s a dog and pony show, a chance to look at you and the others up close while you all run through your ‘tricks,’” Dr. Jacobs said with distaste, drawing my attention back to him. “But we can use that against them.”