Compromised
The computerized voice echoed frantically throughout the entirety of the complex, its metallic tones intertwined with a screeching alarm that made ears bleed.
“WARNING! NEURAL INTERFACE 1A7 HAS BEEN COMPROMISED. SUBJECT’S MEMORIES WILL REVERT TO DEFAULT STATUS IN 5, 4, 3…”
Dr. Elizabeth Reynolds barely had time to register the untimely event, let alone panic. Glancing at the conditioning chair, all she saw was a growling, contorted face, eager to escape both physical and mental imprisonment, and exact revenge on anyone that stood in its way. Then, as she tried to negotiate a path towards the nearest exit, the face grew into a hulking mass of muscles and feverish eyes, and Prisoner Seven came down on her, fast and furiously, like a monsoon of blood.
Her scream was agonizing, yet brief, perhaps too kind of a reward for someone who made a living out of turning fellow human beings into mindless drones to be sold to the highest bidder. With a hundred percent rate under her belt, extreme confidence had clouded the need for additional security measures, but Hell always finds a way to break loose. Half-mad by the interrupted process, blood dripping from the open wounds on his forehead and temporal lobes, Prisoner Seven got up, laughed somberly at the silvery sheen surroundings, and stepped out into the intersecting corridors of the labyrinthian underground facility.
A security guard rushed in from behind and tried his luck in subduing him, only to roll over like a discarded rag doll and die. Upon leaving his mortal coil, he also left behind his gun, and all hope was lost.
No auction was held that night, nor the following, nor ever again.
