Six months later…

Caroline Cotter fought her way through the grog and pried open her eyes. Neil Diamond’s Sweet Caroline was playing on auto-repeat somewhere in the room. Every time she woke, it was to his voice, but there was nothing sweet about her situation.

“She’s awake, General.”

Voices floated in and out of her consciousness, strange figures in white lab coats and thick glasses. Caroline tried to move her arms, but they’d been strapped to the narrow, hospital-style bed, not that she had enough strength to actually move.

She could barely lift her head.

Holding her eyes open took all her energy.

A familiar figure appeared next to her, his uniform blurry before it zoomed into sharp contrast. She tried to speak, but her tongue felt heavy and dry, too thick to move. All she managed was a low moan. General Rainier, her spurned ex-fiancé.

Oh, God.

He smoothed a rough hand down her head and cheek, the abrasive contact sending a shock of near pain through her sensitive skin. No one had touched her since she’d been here. The agony of the forced contact was more than she could process. He shouldn’t be touching her. Why was he even here?

Why am I here?

Finally, he drew his hand back to his side, letting it rest next to his snugly fitting uniform. “She seems really out of it.”

Another voice, this one soft and feminine, said, “We’re keeping her heavily sedated. Her body can regenerate the blood and nutrients she needs better that way.”

The woman’s voice was familiar, though Caroline couldn’t put a name to it.

“Ah, not what I expected—” Rainier stroked his smooth chin and she could practically feel his gaze boring into her, “—but effective nonetheless. I’ve been informed you’ve hit a snag in the experiment.”

There was a slight pause and then the female spoke again, from somewhere behind Rainier. “Not a snag, sir. The subject can only give so much blood at one time without incurring death. We test each batch as quickly and efficiently as possible, but so far all tests have failed. There is something we’re missing.”

“Something inside her.” Rainier gestured to Caroline.

She had no idea what they were talking about, but a growing sense of dread enveloped her entire body.

“Yes, sir,” the female answered.

“How much blood have you taken?”

“More than we should.”

“Take more,” Rainier snapped out. “I’m on the clock. I need results.”

“Sir—”

Shuffling broke out in the room before Rainier spoke again. “If you don’t get me the results I need, then I’ll find someone who will. Do you understand?”

The woman made a choking sound. Caroline focused all her energy on turning her head. Rainier had his hand around the doctor’s throat, and his gaze burned with deadly intent. Caroline tried to call out for help, but again, only a moan left her lips.

“Yes, sir,” the doctor croaked out.

Rainier released her instantly and smoothed out his uniform before turning back to Caroline. “This little beauty holds the key to my future. I don’t care if you have to put her on death’s door as long as you can bring her back. I need results. Now.”

He leaned down, and his face, which she’d once considered kind and almost fatherly, was contorted with malevolence. Her insides shrunk, instinctively straining away from the obvious predator. He wanted to cause her pain.

And she was powerless to escape.

His finger stroked her lips and dark terror gripped her insides. No! This can’t be happening.

“Remember, Caroline, I tried to do this the easy way by marrying you. You chose the hard way.” Rainier straightened and turned to the doctor. “She can handle more. Get a new batch running, now. I want your report on my desk by morning.”

Rainier strode away, reaching out to crank up the radio volume just before he left the room. The lyrics pulsed through Caroline’s veins, wrapping around her mind and sucking her under. She could barely keep her eyes open.

“I’m sorry, Caroline. I didn’t want to do this again so soon.” The doctor held up a long needle and stuck it into the large IV embedded in Caroline’s arm.

“No. . . .”

“It will be okay.” The doctor’s hand smoothed down Caroline’s face, closing her eyes. “Just relax, you won’t feel a thing.”

* * *

Forty-eight hours later…

Reaper stalked through the rainforest, dried palm leaves scraping across his face and shoulders. The low hum of insects droned in the background, punctuated by an occasional howl from the monkeys infesting the Sudan. He’d already combed his old lab, where Mankel had moved his team after the huge fall out with General Rainier. It had taken him precious weeks to locate the new lab, weeks he and his team didn’t have.

Reaper checked his watch, his mouth firming with dread. Less than seventy-two hours before his men surpassed the hard deadline for their next serum dose.

When he reached the edge of the cliff, Reaper paused and closed his eyes, allowing his heightened senses to reach out beyond the immediate area, feeling for the hidden presence of sentries. He was less than a hundred meters from his destination, a place that would never be left unguarded.

Almost instantly, he felt the vibrations in the air to his left. A man standing still, his only movement a slight twist of the shoulders and neck as he scanned the area. Reaper didn’t worry about being found—there was no way the guard could see him where he stood. Not without a pair of binoculars.

He sensed two more guards easing through the jungle within this vicinity, all of them carrying automatic rifles. Which were great for long-distance combat, but they wouldn’t stand a chance in close quarters, which was exactly how Reaper planned to take them out.

He was no longer under anyone’s control, but he still had his abilities, and he had every intention of using them to achieve his objective. Still, he needed to keep operational silence and hold his cards close to his chest. He could penetrate the bunker—Reaper knew that from personal experience.

But what was inside was more precious than any treasure. If he had to, he’d give up his life to save what was in there, although he had absolutely no intention of dying today.

The setting sun cast thick shadows smudging across the undergrowth, leaving only scattered patches of light. It would be completely dark soon and that was when he would make his move.

Reaper crouched near the cliff’s edge and pulled out a single scope. It was easy for him to spot his target down below, but it would have been nearly impossible for anyone whose abilities and senses hadn’t been enhanced by Mayhem. Vines and vegetation crisscrossed together, so thick they were like long fingers, making it appear as though there was only jungle and more jungle beyond. But Reaper’s vision picked out the small bits of gray through the canopy, the incognito keypad embedded in the rock wall on the left.

It wouldn’t be easy to take.

There was no towering structure to give away the underground bunker’s location, making it impossible to detect by satellite or infrared imagery. You either had to know the location or get lucky enough to stumble onto the spot. Reaper had known about the location for months; he’d been an unwilling resident in this place for longer than he cared to remember. And when he finally left, he’d been forced to leave his very soul behind those locked doors.

He lifted his foot to take his next step when bright lights pierced the darkness below and loud engines blasted through the air. Reaper flattened on the ground, sucking in slow deep breaths to slow his heart rate. A convoy of Humvee Raptors painted black didn’t bother trying to cover up their arrival

What the hell was happening?

He lifted the scope to his eyes again, studying each of the five vehicles that pulled to a stop directly in front of the entrance, the lead of the caravan beaming his headlights on high, spotlighting the door.

The front passenger door on the third vehicle opened and a man emerged.

General Rainier.

Reaper’s vision tunneled and the hairs on his arms stood to attention.

Rainier strode with confidence to the door. It slid open before he got within ten feet. Apparently this wasn’t the general’s first visit.

Reaper strained to hear the general’s voice across the distance. It was faint but audible. “Have Dr. Winters meet me in the lab. I want an update on our subject.”

Without another word Ranier moved through the doors like he owned the place and the grunt at the door snapped to attention with a salute.

Reaper reined in his effort. He didn’t need to hear anything else. Dr. Winters. Subject. Had they already found another team to torture?

The insidious memories crowded at the locked part in the back of Reaper’s mind, fighting with almost inhuman strength to pull him back into the darkness. The blood. The death. The agony.

The present. He needed to concentrate on the present. Reaper slammed down a mental block, shoving those memories back where they belonged. Until this moment, he’d had no idea the general had located Mankel’s private laboratory, much less that he had started experimenting on another group of soldiers. This made his mission even more critical. He couldn’t allow any other human being on this planet to go through what his team had endured.

Since being forcibly removed from the experiment with only a few remaining doses for each man, his team had begun the process of trying to recover from the brain washing and alterations, but never knowing when or if one of them might crack had everyone on edge.

Reaper had thought the previous owner, Jack Mankel, was evil, but the general made Mankel look like a wind-up baby doll. General Rainier could not be allowed to continue Project Mayhem.

Reaper tucked the scope securely into his pocket and got to his feet in a flash, darting through the jungle on the balls of his feet, his movement too silent for human ears to detect. He was behind the first guard in seconds, slit his throat and lowered him to the ground the next moment.

He felt absolutely no remorse about killing anyone involved in this secret government project. Reaper didn’t care that he had volunteered for it—his mentor had actively misled him into believing he would be serving his country, saving lives.

Instead, he had sacrificed his men.

The three other guards would be a bit more of a problem. They stood within ten feet of each other, so they would sense the natural threat approaching. There was always the chance one of them could get a bullet in Reaper before he took them all out. Possible but unlikely.

He dropped to his elbows and crawled, the soft mossy floor of the jungle cushioning his torso as he snaked his way closer to the guards. The constant cries of animals and deadly insects never let up – he was one of them.

A creature created in this hell hole. He belonged with the night crawlers and predators. It was the only place he felt at home now.

He embraced the spiders crawling along the ground along-side him as he slowed to inches from the unsuspecting guard’s feet. The man’s death was a forgone conclusion – and Reaper didn’t feel a drop of remorse. Any person that was part of Project Mayhem deserved to die.

Reaper pulled his knife from between his teeth and rose like a scepter.

He put his hand over the guard’s mouth and slashed his throat, holding the now lifeless body in front of him as a shield and charged.

The next guard went down before he even had a chance to turn his head, but the third guard heard his friend’s gargled death cry and swung around. His too-long rifle was his undoing—Reaper grabbed the end, yanked the guard to him and buried his knife to the hilt in his jugular, slicing his vocal cords in the process.

He held the guard aloft with his knife, listening for any hint that the team below had been alerted to his presence. When he was sure they hadn’t, he slid his blade free and turned away, already moving on to his next objective: break into the lab, secure the serum and get Caroline.

He used the rope he’d secured to the cliff face to lower himself to the ground below.

Less than fifty feet away, the caravan remained where they had parked. There were five guards standing around the vehicles cradling their weapons, but they weren’t worried about an attack. No one knew about this location except Jack Mankel and the people trapped inside. But now Mankel was dead and Reaper was on the outside.

The guards should be worried.

If Reaper didn’t get the synthetic serum housed within the bunker back to his team within the next ten days, he and his team members would all die.

Cold determination flooded his veins like nitrous oxide. Reaper shrugged, rolling his neck as he allowed his body to take control. Despite all the negative side effects from the experiment, he was stronger and faster than a normal soldier, enough so that he could take out all five highly trained guards without a single bullet. His sense of hearing and sight were enhanced—not to the point of being superhuman, but close. With enough concentration, he could feel sound waves, focus on the particles of light. These advantages gave him the upper hand.

Reaper dropped to his stomach and belly crawled through the thick vegetation surrounding the bunker, using the jungle as his camouflage.

He tried to remember the time when he felt any hint of remorse for killing – but he couldn’t fathom that far back in his memory.

Besides, he didn’t have the luxury of worry or second-thoughts, his men didn’t have time for those kinds of weaknesses. Reaper would use every weapon at his disposal to save his team, even the synthetic ones Dr. Winters’ created and he despised.

“How much longer is the General going to be down there? This fucking place gives me the creeps.” The guard nearest to Reaper took a drag of his smoke and dropped the butt to the ground, using his heel to grind out the cigarette only a foot from Reaper’s black painted face.

“Just a few more days my man, and we’ll be on R&R. My bro’s got a hot little piece of ass waiting when we get to the border. She ain’t exactly willing yet, but she’s just seventeen so it won’t take her long to see things our way.” His buddy, a meat-faced bulldog looking guard snuck a dented flask from his buttoned shirt, took a swig and offered it to the other guard. The smell of stale cigarettes and liquor punched through the thick viscous air of the jungle. Sweat saturated their uniforms and the stench of body odor without benefit of deodorant was enough to make him gag.

The first guard gave a grunt of laughter and took a long drink, wiping his face with the back of his sleeve. “She as fresh as the last piece your bro hooked us up with?”

Disgusted fury curled through Reapers gut. Fucking bastards were talking about using girls like toilet paper. Their death warrant had been sealed the moment they stepped out of that jeep – but now they’d have to suffer.

“I doubt it, but he had to lay low after the last one went missing from the village. Couldn’t take another one that young so soon.”

“No matter, ‘eh?” The first guard grabbed his crotch and shook his junk through his filthy pants. “I bet that ass will be fresh enough for me.”

The hot rage simmering in Reaper’s blood turned to ice and he grabbed a rock nearby. He couldn’t stand to listen to their filth another second. He chucked the rock through the trees. It hit the ground a hundred meters out and just as he’d predicted, the guards turned to seek out the source of the noise. In a fluid movement, Reaper rose and slapped his hand over the first guard’s mouth, arced his blade around and slicked the man’s femoral arteries.

He let out a gurgled scream and grabbed the insides of his thighs.

Reaper leaned in close. “You like to rape girls?” Reaper jabbed his blade in the man’s gut and yanked upward. “Guess you should have thought about what happens to men that like to hurt women.” He punctuated his words by twisting his knife.

The second guard buddy spun, eyes widening in his fat face. But before he could choke out an alarm, Reaper threw his blood covered knife. It embedded in the guard’s throat to the hilt and he dropped to the ground.

Reaper let the other man slide free, pulled his knife out of the gurgling guard’s throat and sprang into the air. He cleared the hood of the Humvee and came up behind the other guards, cold-fused efficiency fueling his movements as he sliced through the remaining men.

Chest heaving, he wiped his blade clean on his pants and tucked it back into its sheath. Then he grabbed the nearest guard and drug him over to the panel to the side of the doorway leading down into the lab.

He hefted the man’s arm high enough to lay his palm flat on the sensor. A green light flashed, read his finger prints and the metal doors slid open.

Reaper dropped the man and faced the darkness inside. The general had seriously miscalculated his safety. Reaper wasn’t normal - it had taken him a long time to accept that fact—he was a lethal machine crafted and molded for killing.

The serum had altered him at a molecular level, ridding him of the hindrance of emotions and empathy. In his line of work those things were just a hindrance, wasted energy. They were disadvantages that would get him killed.

And it wasn’t like he needed emotions anyway. With no family, no relationships to speak of outside of his team, emotions were a useless waste of his time. After getting past the initial realization that part of his humanity had been taken from him, Reaper had embraced the change. The ultimate result, while painful, had honed him with the precision of a laser-guided missile.

Project Mayhem had buffed down his rough edges, leaving him invulnerable. The drawback—the two weaknesses—was that he needed the serum to survive and he truly had no idea if or when he may lose control again.

As did his team.

Pulling his Beretta free, he stepped into the darkness. His vision immediately adjusted for the near black out conditions. He could see the familiar outline of another doorway at the bottom of the staircase.

A doorway straight into his nightmares.

A cold chill swept down his back as he descended deeper into the earth. Feelings he’d thought obliterated and dead rose within and he had to fight a clawing sense of dread. He’d thought he would never have to return to this place – the source of his sub-human status.

The distance stretched out in front of him like one of those never-ending hallways from his nightmares, knowing he was willfully walking into a place that had been nothing but fear and torture.

The lab where Dawson had died under his watch.

Reaper fought off the deadly invisible grip cutting off his oxygen. What the fuck was wrong with him? The entire purpose of his mission had been to break into the lab. He’d known he’d be going back inside. He’d been prepared.

Reaper finally reached the bottom and leaned against the cold damp concrete wall, gasping for air. Clammy sweat dripped down his neck. His hands shook.

The glass cells. The injections. Dr. Winters face as she put him through test after test.

Dawson’s body bag…

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Reaper shook his head, trying to shake free the unnerving rush of memories. He grabbed his temples and squeezed. This place was nothing more than walls and scientists. He’d just taken out a small group of armed soldiers with the ease of a hot knife through ice-cream.

He drew in a deep breath and clutched the pistol.

Jack Mankel was dead. The man who’d talked him down into this hole was long gone. The only other persons responsible for Mayhem were Dr. Winters and General Ranier – and they were both inside. He could exact his revenge right now. This day. With this gun.

But that might take him from acquiring the serum and the source.

And that was a chance he wasn’t willing to take.

Reaper punched in the code to the door and took the last step inside.

He detected a presence around the corner a moment before the man stepped into sight. Reaper launched forward, shoved his pistol into his holster and snapped the man’s neck before he had time to even register Reaper’s presence. The long, narrow hallway ahead of him was lit with blue fluorescent lighting that stung his eyes. He ignored it and focused on the doorway at the end of the hall, moving with caution past open doors leading into empty rooms.

Strange.

These rooms shouldn’t be empty or quiet.

They should be full of staffers and lab rats, beeping computers and high-tech machines. Where were the people?

He poked his head in a room halfway down the hall only to be greeted by empty tables wiped clean of the papers and bottles once covering their surfaces.

Had Ranier downsized the operation after they escaped?

At the end of the hallway, he lifted his foot and kicked in the door. The steel banged open and satisfaction curled through his very bones when he saw the large, stainless steel refrigerators standing just where they had been before.

Reaper crossed the distance, tucking his gun into his waist band, and yanked the door open.

Empty shelves greeted him. Not one bottle of serum.

Where the fuck were the drugs?

Heavy footsteps sounded outside the door. Reaper spun, grabbing the pudgy middle-aged technician around his throat and lifted him off the ground.

Reaper slammed him into the wall and the technician’s glasses flew from his face and cracked on the floor. The low-level hum from the fluorescent lighting overhead became a dull roar in Reaper’s ears and his fingers tightened reflexively. He ground out, “Where is it?”

Eyes wide, the technician clawed at Reaper’s grip, but it was like butterflies swatting at a mountain lion. Reaper eased his muscles incrementally, just enough so the tech could suck in enough air to speak.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” the tech gasped out.

Anger poured through Reaper’s veins like lit gasoline. He choked the man again, lifting him higher. “Do not lie. I will kill you.”

The technician’s face turned purple and his eyes bulged; Reaper held him like that for a few more seconds, allowing the man to see the wrath he’d rain down on him if he didn’t comply.

“The truth,” Reaper lowered the tech to the ground and loosened his grip once more.

“In production,” the technician gasped.

“What does that mean?” Reaper growled.

If he didn’t have the serum, he couldn’t survive and neither could his team. The thought of letting them down was enough to make him want to eat a fucking bullet. He would never fail his men again. Ever.

“We’re making more right now. Th-th-there are only a few left.”

“Where?” He had to find the remaining serum. That much was obvious, but he needed more. A vial would only get them through the next month.

The technician, sweating bullets and shaking enough to make his teeth chatter, tried once more to pry Reaper’s hand from his throat, but the effort was just as futile as it had been before. “In the lab. Subject room 5B.”

A series of images flashed through his mind—a cubicle behind one-foot-thick impenetrable glass, lab technicians staring at computer screens, studying every minute movement he and his team made. The memories ripped through him, clawing his insides.

The technician’s choking, gargled noises and kicking legs brought Reaper back to the present.

He drew in a breath and forced his grip to relax. “You have another team.”

“No, nothing.” The technician shook his head frantically. “Not yet.”

The angry hair on the back of Reaper’s neck stood on end. “Not yet?” He punctuated each word. “Never again.”

Understanding flashed in the tech’s eyes and he paled, whatever small amount of blood had still been in his head leaching south. “You were an original.”

What the fuck did that mean? “Original” implied there were others, more like him and his team. But there clearly weren’t any enhanced soldiers here right now.

Relief swept through him. Deep inside, Reaper knew he wouldn’t be able to leave another team behind in the clutches of Project Mayhem. Now he didn’t have to worry about that. Not right at this moment. He turned his attention back on his mission. “Why are you making serum in one of the subject’s rooms?”

“The general said he wanted to see the test subject. That means you have someone in there.” With Reaper’s team out, there shouldn’t be any teams training. Who could they possibly be studying now?

“Yes, subject A. Lab room 5B.”

A high-pitched alarm blared in the distance, the screeching sound waves piercing Reaper’s ear drums. He bowed over in agony, grabbing his head with his one free hand. The pain was like sharp knives digging into his brain.

“What’s wrong? What do you hear?”

Eyes watering, Reaper straightened his spine. “Take me there. Now.” His already rough voice was like sandpaper, his throat constricted and raw. Reaper yanked the tech from the wall and held him, dangling, in front of him. With his free hand, he pressed his pistol against the tech’s back. “You know what this is?”

“I got an idea.” There wasn’t a question in the tech’s answer. Good, he knew that Reaper meant business.

“It’s your life. Understand?”

The technician nodded rapidly. “Yes. There will be guards at the entrance to the lab. And then more inside.”

More guards, more prison wards for this supposedly voluntary torture. More men who deserved to die. “Good, now move.”

They entered the hallway, the alarm blaring, a laser boring into Reaper’s skull. His shields were being battered from all sides. The alarm, the blue-tinged lights, the memories. Each step was accomplished by sheer force of will. The technician in front of Reaper wavered in his vision. Blurry one second, determined the next.

“Are you all right?”

Reaper blinked, realizing the tech was staring over his shoulder, clearly in fear.

“Move.” He shoved the gun into the man’s back, forcing him down the hall.

The lab was at the very center of the bunker, making it impossible to penetrate without going through multiple rings and levels of security. But whereas Reaper remembered these halls being lined with multiple guards and technicians, they were now nearly empty. They reached the stopping point, a T in the hallway where they’d either have to go left or right. Reaper yanked the tech back before he could step beyond the corner and turn. The lab would be on his right. He could hear the guard’s hearts beating in their chests. “If you make a move to alert them, I will rip you limb from limb. Do you understand?” Reaper whispered into the tech’s ear.

The man trembled, his shirt collar soaked in his own sweat. “Yes, yes.”

“Good. Just act normal. I’ll take care of the rest.” Reaper released his grip, waiting for the tech to turn the corner.

The tech hesitated for a second, but Reaper lifted his gun and placed it at the base of his skull. That small nudge was the only prodding the man needed. He stumbled on his first step and then straightened, stepping toward the lab. He lifted a hand in greeting to the guards, who were still beyond Reaper’s field of vision.

“Hey, guys.” The tech’s hand shook and he cast an anxious glance in Reaper’s direction. There was no answer from the guards, but Reaper felt a shift in the atmosphere. They sensed the lab technician’s fear, registered his odd behavior.

Perfect, this was exactly what he had planned. And from the way the technician had started shaking, the man had just realized the truth: he wasn’t a distraction; he was bait.

The guards started to edge toward him, their footprints almost silent—but not to Reaper. He cast out his senses, feeling the way the waves bounced off the guards’ bodies and weapons. They each had a pistol raised, he sensed—chest level.

Reaper dropped to a knee, and dove. Gun raised, he slid across the floor right next to the tech’s feet and fired off two rounds through his silencer. The guards dropped dead before their fingers could even flinch on their triggers.

Horror swept across the tech’s face as Reaper got to his feet. “You—you killed them.”

“They needed to die. Unlock the door.”

The technician wavered, seeming to be at war with himself. He probably had friends in there, friends who could easily be sacrificed by Reaper. Cowardice won out.

Reaper swooped down and picked up one of the guard’s discarded hats and put it on. He got right behind the technician and ducked his head. The smaller man quickly punched in the access code and the door opened.

The lab was exactly like Reaper remembered it. The innocuous stretches of beaker tubes and equipment belied the deadly intent. Intent that Reaper had been too blind to see until it was much too late.

“Hey!” That was the last word the nearest tech uttered before Reaper put a bullet in his head.

There was a shifting sound, and Reaper swung around without hesitation and pulled the trigger. Another tech fell to the floor, and the tech who’d been Reaper’s reluctant helper began mumbling incoherently, focused on the two lifeless bodies on the floor. Reaper did not spare them another glance. He watched the hidden secondary entrance in the back left corner. Satisfaction slipped through him when, just as he’d predicted, the panel-covered wall slid open and guards poured out.

They rapidly fired at Reaper in short, loud bursts from their snub-nosed semi-automatic rifles. The tech standing next to Reaper took bullet after bullet into his fat, fleshy body.

With his head down, Reaper held the man’s lifeless body and fired around it. Whiz. Fuck. Whiz. Fuck. Whiz. Fuck.

The barrage of bullets ceased. Reaper peered over his shield’s shoulder and then, seeing there were no more men coming, dropped the technician.

Pistol raised in front of him, Reaper moved through the now corpse-littered floor and made his way to the opposite side of the room. The one he hadn’t been able to look at yet.

The eight test rooms, a.k.a. cells, were stacked side by side along the wall. The outward facing part was solid one-foot-thick glass capable of muffling sound and holding in any force or threat. As team leader, he’d gotten the first one, a room that had no other special qualities above the others beyond being positioned as test room number one.

But that did not mean he got the privilege of receiving the first dose every time. As a matter of fact, it was like they’d saved him for last, studying the effects on the rest of his team before injecting him.

Forcing Reaper to hear his men’s screams and live in terror and hate as he waited helplessly for his turn.

With his mind on the past, his feet took him to his former cell. Reaper attempted to step through the open doorway and sweat broke out across his forehead and armpits. He’d been caged in there like an animal for nearly a year.

“Subject T. K. Reaper.” The soft, feminine voice from his right sent shivers across his shoulders.

Reaper spun, raising his pistol at the same time, and stared into the fearless face of Dr. Winters.