William

Chris watched as William staggered upright, his heart sinking at the thought of fighting another round with the sickly boy. To his relief, William's strength failed him, and he toppled forward, landing with an undignified thud on the padded floor.

Closing his eyes, Chris let out a long sigh.

It's over.

The thought was scant comfort. In the end, it hadn't been much of a fight. William was tall and had long arms, but there was not a scrap of muscle on him. And he had never quite recovered from that first day on the field. Young and inexperienced, he had attacked Chris first, but his heart had never been in it, and Chris had easily deflected his clumsy blows.

Crossing his arms, Chris had looked at the glass, and shaken his head in defiance.

A harsh beep had come from his collar, followed by a bolt of electricity that sent Chris to his knees. Gasping, he reached for his throat, but the shock had already ceased.

The voice had come again as Chris regained his feet.

"That was your only warning. Engage with your opponent, or forfeit your life."

Out of options, Chris had obeyed. Despite their captor's command, Chris had held back, pulling his blows where he could. But as the fight progressed, William had grown desperate, fighting harder, and Chris had been forced to act.

A kick to William's head had sent him reeling, and he'd never recovered.

Now Chris waited, guilt eating at his stomach, curdling the measly remnants of his breakfast. He stared into the mirrored glass, struggling to pierce the reflection, to find the faces of their tormentors. Whoever they were, Chris hated them with a violence he had not thought himself capable of.

The door behind William opened with the whisper of oiled hinges. Two guards entered, followed by a woman in a white lab coat. His heart lurched—but then he realized the woman was not Fallow. One of the guards checked on William, while the other approached Chris, gesturing him back against the wall.

Once the doctor was satisfied both prisoners were secure, she strode across the room to the fallen boy. A wireless headset was wrapped around her left ear, half hidden by the curls of her auburn hair. She spoke as she moved, transmitting observations to whoever was on the other end. In one hand, she carried a sleek steel instrument.

Chris shivered as he recognized the jet injector, identical to the one Fallow had used on him the night he'd been taken.

The doctor crouched beside William, still talking into her headset. The boy was on his hands and knees, struggling to find his balance. The woman laid a hand on his shoulder.

"Subject is still conscious. He appears to be suffering from a concussion. Assessment?"

A low groan came from William as he turned towards the woman. "Wha…what happened?"

Chris closed his eyes, guilt welling within him. He had seen these same symptoms in his Taekwondo Dojang, when younger fighters got carried away sparring without wearing their head guards. Still, he didn't think he'd hit William that hard, just enough to take the fight out of him.

The doctor was nodding to the voice in her ear. "Affirmative. There would be no purpose in resuming the fight. Administering the injection."

Before Chris could react, the woman leaned down and pressed the jet injector to William's neck. The hiss of gas followed as the vial attached to the gun emptied. Quickly, she withdrew the gun, stood, and retreated across the room.

Still on the ground, William raised a hand to his neck in bewilderment.

The woman watched on, her face impassive, arms crossed and fingers tapping against her elbow.

Whatever had been in the injection did not take long to work. Chris stood frozen in place as William started to cough. Then, without warning, his eyes rolled back in his skull. A violent shudder went through him as he took a desperate gasp, as though he were sucking air through a straw. He bent over, groaning, his mouth moving as though he were trying to speak. Wild eyes flickered around the room, pleading for help.

The spell broke as Chris's gaze met William's. He started forward, but the outstretched arm of a guard barred his way. Before Chris could slip past, the man grasped him by the shirt and tossed him back against the wall. The pads broke the impact, but Chris staggered as he landed and barely kept his feet.

He looked up in time to see William pitch face-first into the ground, a low moan marking his final exhalation of breath. His feet kicked for a second longer, then stilled. Silence fell across the room as the guard stepped back from Chris and faced the doctor.

The woman crouched again beside William. She touched a finger to his neck, then gave a curt nod.

"Subject has expired. Subject Christopher Sanders is cleared for advancement." The words were spoken without emotion, as though she were discussing the weather.

"Why?" Chris screamed.

The woman looked up quickly, her eyes widening. The guards edged forwards, placing themselves between Chris and the doctor.

"Why?" Chris said again, taking another step.

The woman's surprise faded, though her eyes flickered to the guards before she addressed him. "He was weak. He would not have survived Phase Two. This was the humane option."

"Humane?" Chris clenched his fists. "He was helpless!"

"Because of his concussion, he passed without knowing what was happening," The doctor spoke with a calm efficiency, as though explaining something to a child.

A wild anger took Chris then, an impossible rage that swept away all caution. He leapt without thinking, fingers reaching for the woman's throat. The guards raced to intercept him, but Chris never made it that far.

Agony tore through his neck, spreading instantly to his every muscle, taking his feet out from under him. He screamed as he struck the ground, and felt the pain of a thousand needles stabbing him. His head thumped against something solid as a convulsion rippled through him. The reek of burning flesh reached his nostrils and his back arched.

When the agony finally ceased, he found himself staring up at the ceiling. The bright light sliced through his skull, and he quickly closed his eyes again.

Movement came from nearby, followed by a voice. "Try that again, and we will find someone else to take your place."

Chris opened his eyes to find the woman standing over him. She held a finger over her watch, a ready smile twisting her lips.

He nodded, swallowing hard as the collar pressed against his throat.

"This is for the greater good, Christopher," the doctor continued. "Without us, you would already be dead. At least here, we have given you a fighting chance. Trust me when I say the government interrogators are not nearly as humane."

She stood then, waving a hand at the guards. "Get him up."

Rough hands grasped Chris beneath his shoulders and hauled him to his feet. He stumbled as they held him, struggling to control his legs. They jerked and twitched, refusing to obey, but eventually he got them firmly on the ground. Even so, the guards did not release him, perhaps knowing from experience how unstable he was.

"Bring him," the woman said as she turned and opened the door.

Chris's gaze lingered on the dead boy as the guards dragged him from the room. William still lay where he had fallen, still and silent, eyes wide and staring from the lifeless husk of his body.

Then they were outside, marching back down long white corridors. Distantly, Chris thought they were heading for the cells, but he paid no attention to his surroundings. His mind was elsewhere, locked away in the room with William, the dead eyes still staring at him.

It's your fault. The thought ate at him.

William had never stood a chance. The minute they'd entered the room, the boy's life had been forfeit. These people had known it, had wanted it to happen.

Doors slammed as they moved deeper into the facility. He knew where they were heading now, that he would soon find himself back in the tiny cell. The others would be waiting for him. And they would know, would see the truth in his eyes.

That he was a killer.