The gas hit us like a wall of poison.
Not the wolfsbane compound I'd expected—this was something else. Something that burned my lungs and made my eyes water but didn't knock me out.
"Alexander," I gasped, grabbing his arm as cyborg number one reached for us. "This isn't wolfsbane."
"What?"
"The gas. It's not meant to kill us. It's meant to weaken us."
The cyborg's metal claws raked across Alexander's shoulder, drawing blood. He spun and grabbed its arm, using its own momentum to slam it into the wall. Sparks flew from damaged circuits.
"Why would Damien want us weak instead of dead?"
That's when I heard the laughter.
Not from the control room where we'd left Damien. This was coming from the corridor, getting closer. And it sounded wrong. Stronger. Deeper.
"Because, my dear Scarlett," came Damien's voice, echoing through the facility's speakers, "dead specimens are so much less interesting than live ones."
