Already a quarter mile away, Creed continued running, just as he was ordered. His eyes scanned the world around him, taking in everything his senses registered.
He heard them before his eyes saw them and because he was downwind, he smelled their unwashed scent, too. Running toward him was a squad of male metasoldiers—seven to be exact. As they approached, Creed immediately recognized the soldier in front. For the briefest of moments, he felt relief at the realization that his brother was alive.
“Holy shit, if it isn’t my little brother, back from the dead!” Gavil held up a hand signaling his team to stop.
Creed, hesitated when, at hearing his brother’s voice, a different feeling raced up his spine. Not wanting to give anything away he decided not to acknowledge his brother’s taunt and continued to run. Gavil jumped in his path and shoved him. “Hey, asshole. I’m talking to you.” The other soldiers snickered while forming a loose circle around the two men.
“I can’t believe the Director let you live after you turned traitor!” Gavil shook his head as though he were sincerely disappointed in his brother’s actions.
“Let me pass.” Creed spoke through clenched teeth.
Ignoring Creed, Gavil continued to taunt. “Hum, kinda makes a guy wonder, you know fellas?” he asked the wild-eyed group of soldiers around him. Creed watched each one carefully, though to look at him you would think his focus was completely on Gavil. His instincts told him something was very wrong with this group of soldiers. Their behavior was—erratic.
“I mean, why would Williams let you live?” Then Gavil snapped his fingers in mock realization, “Oh, I know! He turned you into his bitch didn’t he?” The group around him roared with sick laughter.
“Is that it, little brother? Does the little, bloody guy come visit you in the middle of the night for some—slap and tickle? You can tell me. I mean, after all, we are family,” Gavil’s dead blue eyes glistened with sick humor. His friends snorted loudly, elbowing each other and gesturing obscenely.
“Let me pass.” The stoic calm Creed had maintained since waking in the Facility’s hospital was nearly ready to burst, and they all knew it. He could feel his neck blaze with heat, lapping up to his ears and jaw. Adrenaline slipped icy hot up his back.
“Hey, I’m just trying to catch up, Creedy. I really thought they had diced you up months ago—you know, fed you to the lab rats,” Gavil slinked closer to his brother, anger flaring his nostrils, spittle forming at the corners of his mouth, “for destroying the serum and almost blowing us all to hell!” Gavil shoved Creed hard enough to cause anyone else to fall back, or at least stumble, but not Creed. He just absorbed the blow and didn’t even have to adjust his stance.
Gavil frowned, a flash of uncertainty darted in his eyes before he continued. “Yeah, well, it was good catching up with you, Bleedy. I’m sure I’ll see you around, you know, when you’re not busy being Williams’ little whore.” He laughed at his own joke and motioned for the other six soldiers to fall back into formation.
Creed watched his brother jog away and fumed with old rage and new confusion. He shook his head to try to clear a dizzying wave of disconnected images that flashed in his mind and was rewarded with a stabbing pain in his forehead. He grimaced inwardly before turning and sprinting back toward the Research Hospital hoping the faster he ran, the less pain his mind would feel.
He never told the scientists, but he had been having painful headaches—at least one every couple of days. They always seemed to start in the center of his forehead and burst behind his eyes. He refused to let the pain stop him from demonstrating perfect control during their battery of constant testing, but so far, he was able to work around the blinding pain.
He could feel one of the episodes starting even as he marched directly to his assigned room on the third floor of the Research Hospital. In the stark white bathroom attached to his small dormitory-like hospital suite he stripped off his sweat soaked clothing and turned on the shower. Only then did he allow himself to clasp his aching head with both hands and squeeze, instinctively trying to fight back the pain with counter pressure. It wasn’t working.
Nothing Gavil said made any sense and the more Creed tried to figure out what he meant, the more intense the headache got.