Chapter 12 - The Flesh Harvest
Z
Waking up was like drowning in ice water.
My head throbbed with a blinding, nauseating ache. My vision was blurry, light piercing my eyes like needles. As my senses slowly returned, I realized I was strapped down to an adjustable steel medical gurney. Thick leather restraints bound my wrists, ankles, and torso.
The cold air smelled heavily of antiseptic, copper, and ozone. Fluorescent strip lights hummed overhead, casting a sickening pale glow over a high-tech underground laboratory. Stainless steel tables lined the walls, covered in centrifuges, blood filtration units, and rows of glowing glass vials.
"Ah, Mrs. Vance. Good of you to join us," a cold, smooth voice echoed from the darkness.
I turned my head with effort, my neck stiff and burning.
Stepping into the bright light was a man in a pristine white lab coat over a tailored black suit. He was in his late fifties, with silver hair meticulously combed back, and a cold, calculating gaze. Standing right behind him, arms crossed, was the man from the photograph—the one with the jagged scar down his face.
"Who are you?" I croaked, my throat feeling like it was coated in dust. "Where am I?"
"My name is Dr. Julian Vance," the man said, offering a tight, lifeless smile. "Nathaniel’s uncle. And the true architect of the gene-splicing platform that your father so crudely misused."
My eyes widened in terror. "Nathan told me his uncle died ten years ago in Switzerland..."
"Nathan believed what he was told," Dr. Vance replied smoothly, pulling on a pair of sterile latex gloves. "It was far easier to conduct global bio-engineering trials from the shadows without federal regulatory boards breathing down my neck. Victoria Sterling was merely my asset manager. Your father was my field tester. But you, Maya... you are my masterpiece."
He walked over to a mechanical rack holding four massive glass collection jars connected to clear silicone tubing.
"Your body has fully integrated the synthetic counter-serum," Dr. Vance explained, tapping one of the glass jars with his fingernail. "Your modified kidney has turned your bone marrow into a continuous bio-factory, producing the rarest protein strain on Earth. A strain capable of reversing cellular degeneration in organ failure patients. Private buyers in Dubai and Singapore have offered fifty million dollars per liter."
"You're going to bleed me dry," I whispered, the horrifying reality settling into my chest.
"Not all at once," Dr. Vance corrected logically. "If I drain you completely, your body dies, and the bio-factory shuts down. No, Maya. You are going to stay right here, hooked to a continuous plasma-harvesting unit. We will extract two liters of blood every three days, allow your synthetic bone marrow to regenerate the supply, and repeat the process. Indefinitely."
"Nathan will find me," I spat, tears of pure rage slipping down my temples into my hair. "He will hunt you down and destroy you!"
Dr. Vance chuckled softly, picking up a massive intravenous needle attached to a clear tube. "Nathan is a broken man with one kidney, a failing leg, and a history of cancer. He couldn't even protect you in your own living room. By now, my men have ensured that he is either arrested for your disappearance or buried in the sand."
He stepped up to the gurney, feeling the vein in my inner elbow with his gloved thumb.
"Hold her arm still, Scar," Dr. Vance ordered.
The scarred man stepped forward, his massive, heavy hands gripping my forearm like an iron vise, locking me into place. I thrashed against the leather straps, screaming at the top of my lungs, but the sound bounced harmlessly off the reinforced concrete walls of the underground lab.
Dr. Vance raised the heavy needle, aiming the tip straight for my vein.
"Let's begin the harvest," he murmured.
Suddenly, a loud, thunderous explosion rocked the entire underground facility.
The concrete floor shook violently, knocking several glass vials off the steel tables, shattering them against the floor. Emergency red lights began to flash wildly overhead, accompanied by a deafening, blaring alarm.
Dr. Vance stumbled, clutching the edge of the gurney to keep his balance. "What was that?!"
The scarred man pulled a heavy pistol from his shoulder holster, turning toward the heavy steel blast doors at the end of the lab. "Breach on Level 1! Someone blew the security elevator!"
Before scar could take three steps, the steel blast doors were blown off their hinges by a targeted thermite charge, slamming into the concrete floor with a deafening, metallic crash.
Through the thick smoke and sparks walked a figure clad in black tactical body armor. He carried an automatic shotgun in his hands, his face partially obscured by a ballistic mask.
He raised the shotgun and fired three rapid shots, blowing Scar backwards through a glass partition.
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The shooter lowered the weapon, pulling off his ballistic mask.
Underneath the mask was Nathan. But his eyes weren't the gentle, peaceful eyes of the husband I loved on the beach. They were cold, lethal, and burning with an unholy, terrifying vengeance.
