Page 1 of Five
prologue
TWENTY-ONE YEARS AGO
Project: Blood Assassin
Subject: Five
Day: 326
Time: 20:25
The solitary confinement in the Hole and the sleep deprivation don’t seem to bother Subject Five anymore. Constant bright lights and loud noises still push the Subject to react, such as videos of violence against women. The goal of this project is to take Five’s weaknesses away, and the urge to protect women is a vulnerability we must suppress.
Five’s mood swings are getting more severe. The Subject turns from aggressive and crass, to emotionless and uncooperative. The Subject’s volatility and the radical change in personality hint to multiple identities. The belligerent alter comes out during the daily psychological trials we are inflicting on Five.We must increase those to trigger the switch and work on the alter, who’s more prone to violence. Making the alter the dominant personality would help our sessions immensely.
Mithridatism isn’t building up the immunity to biological toxins in the Subject as fast as we hoped. The rapidity with which the Subject metabolizes drugs is one of the reasons we chose Five for the project, but the Subject is still vulnerable to toxins.
Today, we increased Five’s injection to 1 ng of Botulinum. The Subject's pain level seemed to be as high as usual, Five’s screams, convulsive jolting, and uncontrollable lurching forced us to secure him to the bed to avoid him tearing the ECG machine’s tubes again. After thirty seconds—ten more than last time—the Subject’s heart slowed dangerously until it stopped. We used a defibrillator to revive him.
Five’s immune system is learning to deal with the toxins, but at this rate, the Subject will be dead before we achieve concrete results. Reducing the toxin’s doses will set us back months, and if Five flatlines, we’ll have to start all over again with a new subject.
Creating an assassin immune to biological toxins and drugs is an opportunity we can’t ignore.
one
GABRIEL/BEZALIEL
PRESENT DAY
“You’re fired.” My tone is final as I hold down the speaker button on the intercom on my desk. The temp PA on the other end remains silent. I look through the glass wall along one side of my office at Millennium Park, filled with hundreds of people at this time in the afternoon, and further down at the blue waters of Lake Michigan.
“Go see Evelyn in the HR office. I want your desk empty in the next five minutes.” I release the button and turn my eyes to my phone to see if I can fix the disaster the temporary assistant made. Three days ago, I asked him to call the escort agency I normally use when I need a plus-one to an event, and hecouldn’t. Which is unacceptable.
Now the agency has no one available since the fundraising dinner is in less than a week. If I don’t bring someone, most of the high-society mothers present at this event will try to pushtheir snobbish daughters on me. It’s incredible how relentless they are when in the presence of a rich bachelor. Hence the need of a plus-one to make them back down.
My irregular schedule and long hours in the office could make it hard, but wouldn’t really prevent me from having a personal life. It’s just that I don’t want one, not to mention how dangerous it would be, given my…lifestyle. Escorts are the right solution for me. They do what I say and be what I want them to be for a few hours. No complications.
Offering the agency double their fee could do the trick. I leave a voicemail since nobody is picking up, and my next call is to the HR office to find a new assistant.
My regular, super-efficient PA went on maternity leave two weeks ago, leaving me in chaos. The guy she found as a temporary replacement had an accident which prevented him from coming to work for me. This is the third assistant I’ve fired since she left.
I scratch my cheek, down my short stubble, and wiggle in my chair, trying to shake away the uneasiness spreading through my body. It will go away after tonight.
“Evelyn,” I address the HR manager on the line. “My temporary assistant is coming your way. See what you can do while you find me a new one.”
Before she can reply, the door to my office opens, and Bart Dorridge, an associate working for my firm, walks in. His rigid strides and the angry expression on his long face give me a clear hint of what this is about.
“Evelyn, I’ll call you back,” I say into the phone before hanging up.
“You fired my brother?” he barks, stopping in front of my desk. His clothes are winkled, hair mussed. I can see the leather carry-on he dropped on one of the chairs outside my office through the open door. He just came back from his work trip and found out about his brother’s contract termination.
I wish you terminated him with one of your knives,Bez growls.
The angry associate in front of me can’t hear Bez, the alternate personality I share a body with. We co-front, which means that we are both in control at the same time to varying degrees. Even though at work I tend to lead since law is my area of expertise.
I’m slightly tempted by Bez’s suggestion, still I force the thought away. The family code forbids it.
“You already know the answer to that question.” I don’t like to waste my time, even less to useless conversations.
