The Persona Protocol - By Andy McDermott Page 0,166
them. It’ll go the same way for you.’
‘He’s not my boyfriend,’ she told him. ‘No offence,’ she added to Adam as she secured the strap.
‘None taken. Okay, sir,’ he said to Harper as he lifted his foot from the other man’s chest, ‘get up and sit in that chair over there.’
Harper scowled. ‘Like hell I will—’
Before he could even finish speaking, Adam’s foot came down again, grinding brutally against Harper’s ribcage. The white-haired man tried to scream, but all that came from his mouth was a choked gurgle. ‘You know what I’ve been trained to do,’ Adam said in a low, level voice. ‘This is nothing. I can make you beg to feel this good again.’
‘Adam, please,’ said Bianca, fearful of how far he might go. ‘Don’t.’
He reluctantly eased the pressure. Harper drew in a deep, whooping breath. Adam bent down and pressed the gun against the gasping man’s head before dragging him across the room and dumping him beside the table.
Bianca hurriedly fitted the second cap as Adam kept the gun pointed at Harper’s face. ‘Okay, it’s ready,’ she announced.
Adam took the Neutharsine injector from the medical case. ‘Keep him covered,’ he said, handing her the gun. ‘If he moves, shoot him in the leg.’
‘What?’ she protested, regarding the weapon as if it were toxic. ‘I can’t do that – I’ve never used a gun in my life. I’ve never even held a real one before!’
‘It’s easy. Hold it with both hands, point, pull the trigger.’
‘But I might kill him!’
‘Aim for the outside of his thigh. It’ll minimise the chances of hitting a major blood vessel. But if he’s smart,’ he continued, as much for Harper as for her, ‘he’ll keep very still. Like you said, you’ve never held a gun before. You might easily rupture the femoral artery – or blow his balls off.’ Harper’s face twitched at the prospect. ‘Just point it at him and count to thirty.’
She was about to object further, but Adam put the injector to his neck and squeezed its trigger. He dropped on to a chair as the Neutharsine swept through his system.
This time, it wasn’t just erasing a borrowed persona. It was erasing him. Bianca had coaxed memories out of him during the wait for Harper to return home, trying to ensure that at least some of what he had rediscovered would remain . . . but it wasn’t enough. The sensation was almost physically painful this time, a lifetime being neurochemically torn away before he had even had the chance to experience it again.
And his feelings were being eradicated too. The resurgent pain of the grief and guilt that had almost destroyed him ten months earlier was fading . . . but so too were all the flashes of brightness to which his thoughts of Michael had led him. His brother, father, mother, other family members, friends, lovers – countless moments of happiness, love, pleasure, laughter, warmth, joy . . .
All leeching away, flattening to bland cardboard. Nothing left but second-hand descriptions of emotions, not the emotions themselves.
Michael was gone. He knew he had once had a twin brother, closer to him than anyone else, and that his loss had been shattering. But he could no longer remember how his brother’s death – or his life – had made him feel. It was merely a fact.
Another emotion rose in him. Anger. Not for what he had lost, but that it had been taken from him. Stolen. He opened his eyes, seeing the cause of the anger. Harper.
‘Thirty,’ said Bianca, the gun still shaking in her hands. She glanced at Adam. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Yes,’ he said, trying to control his feelings. He stood. ‘Give me the gun, then inject him.’ She passed the weapon back to him with great relief.
‘Dr Childs!’ said Harper. ‘This is your last chance to save yourself. You’ve got your whole life in front of you – don’t throw it away.’
‘Adam had his whole life ahead of him too, until you threw away his past,’ she responded, taking the other injector from the case. It was loaded with a vial of Hyperthymexine.
The Admiral eyed it with concern. ‘Wait – aren’t you going to do an examination? What about all the measurements you need to take? If you get the dose wrong, it could kill me!’
Bianca smiled sardonically. ‘I’ve done a whole four transfers from unwilling subjects now; I think I can wing it. Six foot two, about ninety-five kilos, wouldn’t you say, Adam?’