I hate going down there.
Every one of them, staring at me. Reminding me of my failure to save them.
I wonder sometimes what they would think of me if they were still human but I know that at this point they probably aren’t capable of thinking anything beyond the planning necessary to create more of themselves. To turn us into them.
Usually I send Newton down to collect samples, but since he’s come down with that stomach bug that’s been going around, it’s up to me.
Have to do it. Every piece of information we can gather on the bioforming process is invaluable. Not that that makes it any easier, of course.
I tie the tourniquet around Jenclo’s upper arm, and tap to find the vein. I take out the alcohol-soaked swab and disinfect the site. Carefully inserting the hypodermic, the Vacutainer performs its duty without a hitch and I have sample number one. Rinse and repeat, so to speak.
She’s the worst.
Once, she managed to fracture my wrist while I was taking a blood sample, but after the hell she’s been through, I can’t say I blame her. Between the trauma of the bioforming process itself and our immediate, cold confiscation of her child, well…I think I would have done a lot more than fracture my wrist had I been in her place.
These days, however, she’s kept well-sedated. Not just as a precaution for me, but for the guards, too. After her rampage through Threshold to get Lucas and Ramsey, Caffrey ordered that she be kept under. Indefinitely.
Happily, she’s the last one on today’s rounds, so I pack up the samples and discard the used needles in the appropriate sharps container and board the elevator, bodyguards in tow. Time to start the analysis.
Who knows? Maybe I’ll find a cure. Maybe we can save these poor bastards and prevent the rest of the human race from turning into a bunch of triple-helix murder machines.
Or maybe I won’t. And I’ll die here, too.