The Apex

Garrison did not hesitate. The moment Cynthia's foot hit the wet concrete of the chamber, he pulled the trigger.

The rifle roared, filling the small circular room with a deafening blast. Three high-velocity rounds struck Cynthia in the center of her chest, tearing through the dark jumpsuit. The force of the impact snapped her torso backward, sending her crashing into the stone wall of the tunnel entrance.

"Get behind the tank, Valerie!" Garrison shouted, his eyes never leaving the spot where she fell. He ejected the partial magazine, slapping a fresh one into the receiver with a heavy click.

I didn't move toward the tank. My eyes were fixed on my sister.

Cynthia was already standing up.

She didn't groan or bleed the bright red blood of a living human. A thick, blackish fluid oozed slowly from the three holes in her chest, sealing the fabric of her suit as the flesh underneath visibly knitted itself back together. The bullets clattered against the concrete floor, pushed out of her body by her own contracting muscle tissue.

"Is that the best the elite sector defense forces can do, Garrison?" Cynthia asked. Her voice carried that strange, dual-layered echo, vibrating against the stone walls. She brushed a strand of pale hair away from her face, her eyes gleaming. "Dr. Thorne told me you were the best shot in the district. I am disappointed."

"What did he do to you?" I asked, my voice trembling. "Cynthia, you are letting a madman use your body as a weapon."

"He didn't use me, Valerie. He enhanced me," she spat, her gaze shifting to me with sudden, sharp fury. "For twenty-five years, I was the one who had to stay inside because the air outside might stop my heart. Now? I can break your neck before you can even take a breath. Let's see how much Garrison loves his perfect, healthy clinic girl when you are rotting in this drain."

She lunged again. This time, she didn't walk or run. She blurred across the space.

Garrison threw his weight into me, shoving me hard behind the massive iron water tank just as Cynthia slammed into his position. The sound of her body hitting his armor was like a car crash, a metallic crunch echoing through the pipes.

Garrison let out a sharp grunt as he was thrown backward against the concrete wall. His rifle flew from his grip, spinning across the wet floor into the dark trench.

Cynthia stood over him, her pale hands reaching down to grab the collar of his vest. Her fingers dug through the reinforced nylon as if it were wet paper. She lifted his entire two-hundred-pound frame off the ground with one arm, her expression completely effortless.

"You threw me out of the truck," she whispered, her face inches from his. "You told me I didn't have a seat anymore."

Garrison didn't answer. He reached down to his boot, drawing his knife. With a swift upward arc, he drove the long steel blade directly under her chin, burying it up to the hilt in her throat.

Cynthia froze. Her eyes widened slightly.

Then, she smiled.

She reached up with her free hand, grabbed the handle of the knife, and pulled it slowly out of her neck. The black fluid hissed against the steel blade as she tossed it away. The wound under her chin closed instantly, leaving nothing but smooth, pale skin.

"Bullets don't work, Garrison. Knives don't work," she laughed, her grip tightening on his vest until the seams began to pop. "What are you going to do now?"

"Valerie, run!" Garrison choked out, his hands clawing at her wrist to break the chokehold. "The secondary codes... the garage... get out of here!"

"She isn't going anywhere," a new voice boomed from the overhead intercom speaker.

The iron door at the back of the circular chamber, the one leading deeper into the laboratory levels, suddenly hissed open. Dr. Thorne stood in the threshold, flanked by two automated security drones. The small quadcopters hovered in the air, their twin-linked machine gun barrels tracking directly onto me.

"Drop him, Cynthia," Thorne ordered into his handheld microphone. "We need the Commander intact for the biometric synchronization. The northern outpost's primary weapon cache won't open without his retinal scan."

Cynthia looked back at Thorne, her jaw tightening. For a second, the old, petulant expression of my sister flashed through her mutated features.

"He tried to kill me, Doctor. He deserves to watch me tear her apart first."

"You will have your time with your sister, child," Thorne said, his voice smooth and entirely cold. "But the project comes first. Drop him. Now."

Cynthia hissed, a sound that didn't belong to a human throat, and slammed Garrison hard onto the concrete floor. He hit the ground rolling, his hand instantly reaching for the sidearm at his hip, but one of the drones dropped lower, its laser sight painting a bright red dot directly on the center of his forehead.

"I wouldn't, Commander," Thorne said with a smile from the doorway. "These drones are programmed to fire on any sudden kinetic movement. Valerie, step away from the tank and join your sister. We have a family reunion to complete.”