Capt. T. K. Reaper shoveled cold fake mashed potatoes into his mouth like it was his last meal. Always hungry, keeping his non-dominant arm curled around the plastic, cafeteria-style plate, he scarfed down his entire plate of rations in less than five minutes along with the other men crowded around the too-small rectangular table.

The bottle of purified water he downed in one gulp wasn’t enough to quench his thirst. Just like the food was never enough to take the edge off the gnawing, ever-present hunger in his belly.

His second-in-command, Ward Thornton, aka Thorn, thrummed his thumb on the table. A coping mechanism, no doubt, but it’s steady, low buzz had Reaper curling his toes under the table to keep himself from lashing out. Forks clinked against the men’s plates and rattled in his ears. Even the fluorescent lights overhead seemed to buzz like a hornet’s nest filled with a swarm ready to swoop down and attack.

Reaper grabbed a fork and a small plastic bowl filled with peach cobbler. Damn serving size was no bigger than his palm.

Thorn coughed suddenly, pain shot through Reaper’s head and his hand fisted in reaction.

The loud roar quieted and Reaper felt every pair of eyes in the room turn on him. He uncurled his fist and stared in dread at the mangled metal fork in his hand.

Sweat broke out across his brow. Shep, aka Bolen Shephard, the sergeant who had been on his team for over five years, nudged his knee under the table. “It’s all right. We’re all freaking out.”

Shep glanced at the guards posted at the door behind him before returning his attention to the half-eaten plate of food before him, he answered quietly, “Migraines. Muscle spasms. Fucking light feels like it’s piercing my skull.”

His crisp knee hair grazed Reaper’s skin, the contact like razors raking across his flesh.

Reaper struggled to keep his expression neutral, his head tilted down so that the other set of guards on the wall facing him couldn’t fully read his expression. “You feel it, too?”

He and his team had been separated after volunteering for the testing with Red Water Corporation. As far as he knew, everyone had been kept in separate living quarters, all their basic needs provided for—needs that now included complete silence and darkness and limited textures. This was the first time Reaper had seen the others since Project Mayhem had begun. They had been ushered into the sterile cafeteria one by one, each of them watching the others with quiet intensity, studying their reactions and their leaner physiques. Whatever small percentage of body fat they’d possessed before entering the experiment was gone, and in its place was packed, corded muscle that strained the confines of their Army-issued BDUs.

The team had harsh, almost cruel shadows lining their faces.

“Where’s Quantum and Dawson?” Thorn asked.

Reaper leaned forward, looking for his subordinates and found two empty seats at the end of the bench. “Don’t know. Any of you seen them?”

From across the table, Diggs, special ordinances expert, met Reaper’s gaze, his normally light gray eyes stark and void. He looked like a man who had walked into the underworld and left part of his soul behind. “Haven’t seen either, but I’ve heard Quantum.”

Reaper’s already rock-hard stomach twisted into a titanium device of dread. “What have you heard?”

His pale lips parted, and Diggs answered, “Until yesterday, all I heard were screams.”

The food Reaper shoveled down churned in his stomach. He had led his team right into this experiment, swayed by promises of enhanced strength and physical stamina. He’d been all John Wayne charging into battle, leading his men straight into the unknown. They’d all agreed, but the decision had been on him. He’d trusted the man who had recruited him for the project. The idea of giving his men an edge in battle had appealed to him, especially after the loss of his best friend, Merc, who’d been gunned down on the streets of Baghdad.

Reaper’s one-on-one interactions with the researchers and doctors had yielded almost no information other than that his team was safe and nearby and he could see them again soon, just as soon as any chance of cross-contamination had been ruled out. Cross-contamination of what, Reaper didn’t know and everyone here refused to tell him.

“What do you think’s going on, Cap?” The youngest team member, Specialist Juarez, sat wedged between two larger men, but his smaller fame was no less ripped. Reaper had fought hard to recruit the newcomer to the Special Forces team before they’d gone completely black ops. He’d worked with the soldier in Kandahar Province, and Juarez impressed him with his uncanny ability to read the moves of the enemy and quickly react.

And now the sight of Juarez’s baby face weighed on Reaper like ten tons of steel.

He didn’t know how exactly, but he knew he had to get his team out of this lab. “What else have you heard?”

“A bit of everything,” Juarez said in a hushed voice.

Before Reaper could question him further, the door opened and the lead researcher, Dr. Winters, strode in with her ever-present clipboard clutched to her chest. “How are my subjects doing today?” She walked right up to their table as if they were caged lions on the prowl and sat confidently at the end, assessing each and every man with the same quietly alert demeanor she always seemed to possess.

“Where are Quantum and Dawson?” Reaper asked.

Winters glanced at her clipboard, flipping through a few pages before answering. “They’re safely resting in their quarters, from a negative reaction to the last injection.”

This was the first bit of information Reaper had received about any of his men prior to this dinner, and while every single cell in his body was focused on the doctor, he forced his body to relax and his expression to remain neutral. “What exactly do you mean by negative reaction?”

For the first time since he’d been here, Winters’s demeanor cracked. She sighed and Reaper noticed that her normally perfect bun had a few strands hanging loose. There were uncharacteristic wrinkles in her lab coat and even a couple of more wrinkles around the corners of her eyes. The woman had been a researcher for over two decades, and the good doctor had the role of an objective observer practiced down to a T, but something about her cool, collected demeanor was off today. Reaper pressed for more, sensing the change and homing in for the kill. “What are you giving us? Why haven’t I been allowed to see my men until today?”

He’d been asking this question all along and although his words were as calm as unbroken water, the guards in the rooms shifted instinctively, sensing the growing danger in the room.

They weren’t completely stupid—they knew Reaper had changed, just like his men had changed.

“The reason we allowed you to gather together today is because it’s time for phase two of the experiment to begin.”

Reaper caught the questioning glances of the rest of his men and asked, “Phase two?”

He hadn’t been aware there was a phase one—just a constant cycle of injections and unanswered questions.

Dr. Winters’s thin lips lifted into a faint smile. “Of course, all experiments have more than one phase.”

He couldn’t help but dislike Winters. From the very beginning, she’d talked to him like a thing, not a human being, but maybe that’s why his mentor had chosen her for the role of head research facilitator. A person with no emotions would bring no outside influence that could possibly taint the data.

Reaper kept his hand curled around the fork so the doctor couldn’t see what he’d done. He’d been careful to keep all of his reactions under control, hiding all of his heightened senses as much as possible, although he hadn’t been successful one hundred percent of the time. For some reason he didn’t want these people to know the full extent of his enhanced power.

“Now that we’ve been able to determine each of your personal strengths and exactly how the synthesized protein has altered your DNA, we’re ready to begin group testing.”

He snatched up every bit of information like a starving child, yet he didn’t move a muscle or flinch as he processed the intel. Reaper wasn’t a genius, but he was smart enough to know fucking with someone’s DNA was some deep-level shit. The serum Winters had injected was to boost their muscle mass, amp up their reaction speeds, but this? “What exactly do you mean our DNA has been altered?”

Winter’s smile disappeared. “You and each one of your men signed up for this testing, you agreed to turn yourself fully over for experimentation.”

“No one said anything about altering our DNA.”

She didn’t even look nervous or worried. Just curious, her piercing gaze assessing every single move he made. “It isn’t any of your business. You gave us full control.”

Reaper slammed his fist into the table, crumbling his fork into a tiny ball. He let it clatter to the table and rose to his feet, towering over the doctor. “Where the fuck is Jack Mankel?”

Mankel was his mentor, almost like a father to him. He was the reason Reaper had agreed to this experiment—and ever since it had begun, he had neither seen nor heard from him.

“Come with me, Captain,” she said, her voice brooking no refusal. “We’ll have a little . . . chat. The guards will take the men into the special room we’ve set up to test your strengths as a unit.” She waved toward the door, and the guards immediately stood at attention. His team’s gaze shifted to him as one. He felt the weight of his responsibility for them on every square inch of his body. One nod, and they fell in, following the guards out of the room.

“Now tell me what the fuck you’re using on us.”

“It’s my own creation,” she said with pride. “I created a bonding agent around your DNA protecting the cells from the breakdown that occurs daily and enhancing them. I can see on your face that you want out, but let me tell you this, Captain. If you don't continue to receive your injections, the very thing protecting your DNA will disintegrate and destroy you.”

Fury blasted through his chest and he slammed a fist into the glass, cracking his knuckles. Blood splattered across the surface. “That’s not what we signed up for.”

“You don’t want to sacrifice yourselves in the name of research that will help future generations of soldiers? Regardless, you don't have to give up your lives. Not if we continue to receive funding.”

“Will we ever be able to live without the serum?”

A shadow of uncertainty flashed across her face. “Of course, as soon as I figure out how to make the changes permanent instead of temporary.”

Reaper threw back his head and let out a ragged, almost insane, laugh. “You have no idea what you’re doing, do you? I volunteered my men to be your guinea pigs and you know as much as a fucking monkey doing sign language.”

“I know everything. I created you. I made you who you are,” she said through clenched teeth. Her porcelain complexion flushed pink in one of the only outward shows of emotion he’d ever witness her express.

“And Quantum? Dawson? You have no idea what’s happening to them, do you?”

Winters paused, standing on the other side of the glass like a statue. She didn’t talk for so long Reaper punched the glass again, regardless of the pain that it caused. “You deserve to die.”

Finally, she responded. “I know exactly what caused their reactions. I know everything, Captain, you would do well to remember that and the fact I hold your life in my hands.”

Reaper scrubbed a calloused hand over his head, his frustration palpable. He wanted to strangle her, to shake some shred of decency into her. But he couldn’t.

Not yet.

He needed her. “What do you need from me?”

“The men controlling the purse strings are demanding results. They’re coming in six weeks to observe our progress. From here forward, you and your men will train as a team to prepare for their arrival. If you show no significant progress, they’ll pull the plug.”

“And then?”

“And then we get more money depending on how well you're able to control your men, and you get to continue living.”

---

Six weeks later, Reaper silently stalked behind two gun-clutching guards down the florescent-lit hallway. As if he couldn’t snap both their necks before they had time to turn around and pull the trigger. Bad enough their faces were as white as the walls surrounding them. The floors too. Even his room. Fuck, he was really beginning to hate that goddamn color.

But killing them would serve no purpose at this point. He had to see his team and make sure they were okay, and once they were all together again, they could formulate a plan to escape. Their training for the past few weeks had been more heavily monitored than the White House on full alert.

But his men had all been careful. They’d done what Dr. Winters required and no more. As far as she knew, Reaper and his team were stronger and faster than before, but that was all. They didn’t allow her to see the other talents they’d each developed thanks to her little serum mixture.

Like the fact Reaper could taste the fear rolling off his guards. He could hear their hearts slamming against their rib cages like jackhammers. He could smell the tension in their sweat.

A door to his right swung open and two techs pushed out a gurney laden with a black body bag. Reaper stopped in his tracks. “Who is that?”

Winters appeared in the doorway. “A weak link.”

Sinister tendrils practically oozed from her soulless face. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the bright edge blasting in Winters’ pale gaze couldn’t be denied.

“Where are my men?”

“The rest of your team is in the lab straight ahead.”

“The rest?”

Winters lifted her chin. “Dawson didn’t make it.”

He blinked, processing her information through the rapidly descending cloud of rage and dread. He’d spotted Quantum about a week after the lunchroom meeting, but not Dawson.

Not Dawson.

“You killed him!”

Winters didn’t even flinch. “He suffered a massive brain aneurism six weeks ago. We did everything we could to control the internal bleeding, but he succumbed. There was nothing else we could do.”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Reaper lunged and the pair of armed guards closed in, blocking him from reaching the doctor. “I’ll kill you for this!”

“I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d overreact. Dawson donated his life and body to this project knowing fully the risks. Second, you can’t kill me. I’m the only thing keeping the rest of your team alive.”

“This happened six weeks ago. You kept him in the cooler this long?”

“We had to make sure this didn’t happen again.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It means that when Dawson signed his consent for the project, he agreed to donate his body to research in the event of loss of life.”

Reaper shoved through the pitifully weak guards and grabbed the zipper on Dawson’s body bag. The sight that greeted him was more than he’d ever be prepared to witness. A huge, ugly Y-shaped scar covered his chest from shoulder to stomach, the shredded edges of his skin now held together by thick black threads. “This isn’t research.”

A flicker of something beyond sanity flashed behind Winters’ thick glasses. “We needed to see the effects of the dosage on the organs and tissues.”

“You butchered him.”

“He didn’t feel a thing.”

“Bitch!” Reaper lunged again, diving over Dawson’s body and wrapping his hands around her throat. If he could just get his grip right, he’d snap her head from her shoulders. He had the strength, thanks to her.

A guard slammed the butt of his rifle in to Reaper’s temple but he didn’t let go. Winters had to die.

Her pale face turned a wonderful shade of purple and she clawed at his grip. A useless endeavor but he enjoyed her struggle all the same. “How does it feel knowing that you’re going to die and you can’t do a damn thing to stop it.”

The other guard slammed his gun into the base of Reaper’s skull. His grip loosened, out of his control. Winters dropped to the floor, coughing and hacking, shielded by his dead teammate.

Reaper fought off the wave of dizziness and went for her again, but this time they were ready. The men converged as one, punching him without pause until he had no recourse but to retreat to find his footing.

Winters climbed to her feet, her hand around her neck and croaked. “Get him to the test room.”

“Sore throat?” He cast her a merciless grin. The bitch needed to suffer before she died. She might have escaped this time, but that was a temporary state. He’d kill her – sooner rather than later.

Guns trained on him, the guards backed to the doors at the end of the hall.

“Your men are waiting, Captain.” Winters kept Dawson between them and straightened to her full height. “Remember what I said about funding.”

He followed the guards down the hall and pushed open the door to the laboratory.

Blood covered everything. Tables, computers, the walls. Dead bodies littered the floor. Civilians in lab coats screamed. His men attacking them like vicious animals.

Terror crushed his sternum against his lungs.

His team, who’d vowed to protect innocents with their lives, was killing civilians.

A sharp, high-pitched screech penetrated his awareness and the bloodshed faded. Everything faded but the urge to kill. His mind snapped like a huge sheet of tin in the wind, flushed bright white with streaks of lightning and he could no longer see his men going savage. He couldn't see the scientist falling to the ground.

He saw himself, moving like a bullet. His hands around the technician's throat. The scalpel buried in the next man's chest. Grabbing another screaming scientist and breaking him in half over his own knee.

At some point, Reaper returned to conscious, ragged, deep, gasping breaths pistoning in and out of his chest.

Bodies on the ground. Death and destruction that was an orderly lab only seconds before.

His own hands were covered in blood. Blood from the innocents he'd just murdered.

A terrifying dread gripped him, and his bloodstained hands started to shake.

He didn't know when he woke up or how, but he was standing in the middle of the lab, covered in blood, his knife clenched in his hand. The only people left living were him and his team. The lab technicians who normally manned the research room lay in heaps around their feet, dead.

Reaper dropped the knife, horror creeping around his entire body.

And then a light flicked on across the room, highlighting a line of uniformed men and women standing behind a half-wall of glass, satisfaction on their faces.

Through the thick observation glass lining the back wall, Reaper met the satisfied gaze of his mentor, Jack Mankel, flanked by Dr. Winters and General Rainier.

With a thunderous clap of dread, he realized the high-pitched squeal hadn't been an alarm, it had been a trigger for devastation that had robbed his control and turned him into a cold-blooded murderer. Project Mayhem hadn't only been an experiment to enhance his team's capabilities, it had been a study on mind control.

His mentor smiled, tucked his hands into his pockets and walked away, leaving his team alone with their new reality.

Their dreams of saving others was demolished by their own hands. They were no longer heroes.

No longer soldiers.

No longer saviors.

…They were killers.