Page 88 of Dark Shaman: Love Found
It was risky. Too much and he could trigger a seizure or worse, but he needed answers.
"Tell me the specifics of your plan," he commanded.
Hozran's eyes rolled back momentarily, then focused with disturbing intensity. "First, we—" His body convulsed, foam appearing at the corners of his mouth. "No. No, that's...that's secret. The secret plan. Secret, secret, secret." His eyes cleared for a moment. "When the revolution comes, you will be the first to die." A massive convulsion rocked Hozran, and then his body went limp.
"Is he dead?" Brovos asked, sounding hopeful.
"No, he's just unconscious." Zhao tried to maintain an even tone, even though his heart was racing and his palms weresweaty. "Take him back to the barracks. He needs to sleep it off. And bring the next subject."
Zhao watched as they unlocked the chains and carried Hozran's limp form out. He shouldn't take the threat too seriously. After all, the enhanced soldier hadn't slept properly in two weeks, according to his own admission, and that was a sure road to insanity. Once he was rested, he would stabilize.
He returned to his lab, locked the door, and pulled a bottle of whiskey from the filing cabinet. Not bothering with a glass, Zhao unscrewed the top and took a long swig, and then another, and another, until the languid feeling of drunkenness replaced the fear and anxiety.
Twenty minutes later, another enhanced soldier was sitting in the same chair, bound by the same chains.
This one was called Demetri, designation E-23, one of the earlier subjects. The early ones were often the most stable, their transformations less extreme than the later iterations, where Zhao had pushed the boundaries of what was possible and reasonable.
"Hello, Demetri," Zhao said, preparing a fresh syringe with a slightly different compound. Each soldier responded differently to the drugs, and he'd made extensive notes about each one's reactions and customized his approach.
"Doctor," Demetri acknowledged with a nod that rattled his chains. "Hozran had a seizure. Did you give him a dose that was too large?"
"No, I was just trying a different formulation, and he had a mild reaction to the medication. He's fine."
"Of course, he is. We're all fine. Better than fine. We're perfect." Demetri's tone was flat, almost bored.
As Zhao administered the injection, Demetri didn't even acknowledge the needle's penetration.
"Tell me about the secret meetings you and the other enhanced soldiers have been having lately," Zhao said once the drug had time to take effect.
"What meetings?" Demetri's pupils dilated, but his expression remained neutral.
"The ones where you plan your transcendence."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Either Demetri genuinely didn't know, or the drugs weren't working on him. Given the flat affect and lack of emotional response, Zhao suspected the latter. Some of the enhanced soldiers had developed remarkable resistance to chemical manipulation, their altered brain chemistry creating unexpected shields against pharmaceutical interventions.
"You haven't been sleeping," Zhao observed, noting the micro-tremors in Demetri's hands, and the way his eyes tracked movement with hypervigilance.
"Sleep is a waste of time. We have so much to do."
"Like what?" Zhao asked. When Demetri didn't answer, he repeated, "What do you have to do?"
"Train. Grow stronger. Fulfill our purpose."
"Which is?"
Demetri's carefully schooled expression turned manic. "Whatever Lord Navuh commands us to do. We are his secret weapons."
It was the correct answer, the one any loyal soldier would give, but he was lying. There was something in the delivery that betrayed it.
Zhao tried adjusting dosages, asking questions from different angles, but Demetri gave him nothing useful. Either he was out of the loop on whatever the more enhanced soldiers were planning, or his resistance to the drugs was on a different level.
"Take him back," Zhao finally said to the guards.
After sealing the laboratory door, he slumped against it. His hands shook as he pulled another bottle from the filing cabinet—vodka, Russian and potent, the only thing that could still cut through his nerves.
He should report this to Lord Navuh.
