Born Captive (Broken Angel 1)
I have lost my mind.
But he hadn’t. The door had been propped open by a thin nail. He graced the edges with the flat of his finger, too frightened to take it into his hand lest it be another vision.
The image of Wren seemed to flash against the light. She was always there. Somehow.
He glanced down and felt the radiant flow of chemicals flow through him. “No,” he whispered. “It can’t be…”
He had been carefully hooked and plugged into various tubes that ran into his cephalic vein. A set of vials of pain medication sat on a small, metal desk near to his cot. Attached to the wall was an emergency flare kit and extinguisher.
Pulling against the thin needle, he felt the rising tug of pain beneath the skin. Groaning through the discomfort, he ripped the barb and quickly cupped his hand over the wound.
Dizziness suspended his movements. Stumbling against the table, he groggily reached above and grabbed the flair gun, laughing to himself at how terrible of a weapon it would make. Falling toward the door, he pulled it open and fell onto the concrete outside. A blinding, searing light froze over him like the breath of life. He choked and felt the tears fall from his eyes. Even if this was for nothing, he had to see what fate had prepared him.
More lights switched on around him, painting a trail down the long hallway. Taking the bait, he crawled until he reached a door. Weakly, he stood and forced his body weight against the knob. He rocked his wrist and opened the door.
The room was massive like a commercial greenhouse. Black and gleaming pods housed endless rows of women. Wren… Yes, in every one of them, a part of Wren was visible.
The room was quiet and still, cold and desolate. But there was a certain comfort in seeing the women rest in peace. Real peace. Not even death could provide that. He was sure of that. When his flame flickered out, he’d wind up back in the shit.
Step by step, he walked into the center of the room, where a console sat flashing the Ouroboros. With a yet slower rhythm than glacial ice, he lowered against the console and started to laugh. Inward, his hands tightened and shook. Turning into a manic beast, he screamed.
Then, a voice sprung from nowhere. It was a woman’s voice. “Welcome home, Vash.”
Vash’s whipped his body around, but he saw no one. Walking through the rows of life-suspended women, he searched for the sound. “Where am I?”
A hideous laugh. “You were never given access to the cryo chambers, were you?”
Vash paused and sank against the floor, exhaustion overwhelming his muscles. “You are weak,” the voice said.
Vash peered against the stark white light that shone above him and the clones. “Who speaks?”
“It is the nakedness of the land that you have come to see.”
Vash gasped, breathlessly. “I am weak. If you wish to kill me, do it without the riddles.”
The voice continued to thread its taunting tone through his ears. “You have been on quite a journey.”
Vash gave a sigh of relief. “Wasn’t my journey. I can see that now.”
“Yes, and soon enough, she will be back to her home.”
“And my pack?” Vash asked. “Will they be treated with as much grace?”
Another light giggle followed by the rushed sound of oxygen filling aged lungs. Vash wished he could see the woman behind the voice, but every word rustled in a different corner of the room. “They brought you to me. Their services are no longer needed.”
In turn, Vash let out his own desperate laughter. “Every path I took led to my own demise. Was it you who left me the serum?”
“Mmhm.”
“Why?” he asked.
“Cassian behaves in a rash manner. You would have died if I didn’t help you,” she said.
“I don’t understand.”
The quite hum of a wall separating resounded behind him. As soon as he turned, he saw a woman in a large bed. A breathing mask housed her sagging face. She stared at him, hollow and impure. Vash started forward, but he quickly stopped himself from getting too close.
“Are you a…”