“I’m glad to hear it. Even better if it’s true.” Giovanni turned slightly towards the closed door and lowered his voice minutely. “As I said in my email, the subject’s well-being isn’t a high priority, so long as his life isn’t wasted. The only thing you have to worry about, doctor, is wasting our time here.”
No sound emitted from the room as Giovanni swiped his key card and pushed the door open. He was taking a steep risk, he knew that. A ‘Crow squad had gone to a lot of trouble to bring this subject back, and the company would not be forgiving if he failed. If this experimental chemical rendered the subject a drooling twitching mess incapable of speech. They were already breathing down his neck more than he’d like, and the last thing he needed was to attract the company’s explicit displeasure right now.
Lucas Ortiz’s head swayed violently when Giovanni strode back into the room. The eye that wasn’t swollen shut tracked Crane behind him, his mouth gaping with his shallow breath. A draculoid closed the door again. Giovanni did not bother with introductions this time, and led Crane towards the back of the room to a steel counter. An armored case with an array of tools lay open on it, beside a steel sink and a flattened piece of bloodied gauze. A few teeth lay there with the roots still intact.
“I’d like you to explain how it’s administered. Please.” Giovanni gestured to a clear space on the counter and moved back slightly.
It was starkly different to where Anders had sent him -- though the floor was flecked with blood and some pooled beneath the chair, particularly where it seemed to have flown from crusted stumps where fingers used to be, it was nothing like having to walk through it, congealed. It was dried up around Lucas’ mouth and around one of his eyes, and was soaked into his clothes, staining them dark red and brown. It bubbled audibly in his throat when he tried to breathe and contrasted his pale face and neck.
Avoiding the puddles, Crane followed Giovanni to the back of the room and laid the briefcase flat on the counter. “Of course,” he said, unlocking then opening it. Inside were three syringes with needles fitted, all of them filled with the same brown, translucent liquid, along with a box of rubber gloves and a bottle of disinfectant.
Lucas watched, his eyebrows furrowing more than they already had from the pain. “What is it?” He croaked, voice low and hoarse. It seemed like he might have broken ribs, as he couldn’t breathe very deeply at all or evidently speak for very long. Crane didn’t acknowledge him or answer.
“It’s simple, like most other injections,” he said to Giovanni, rubbing disinfectant on his hands before pulling on a pair of gloves. He picked up and twisted Lucas’ arm within the restraints with little resistance to expose the inside of his forearm. The tattoos there were messy and healed badly, the skin over them scarred where the artist had been heavy-handed. A clear one towards his elbow showed three thick ‘X’s. Crane rubbed disinfectant over it and picked up a syringe, picking apart the plastic wrapped around it.
“As long as it enters a vein,” he said, pressing down gently to release the smallest amount of liquid, ridding the barrel of any air that might be trapped inside. “There should be no problem.”
“What is it?” Lucas attempted to demand but spoke and fought so weakly that he might as well have said nothing. He was ignored again, and Crane pushed the needle into a vein near his elbow, below the tattoo, injecting the entire contents of the barrel then quickly stepping back, dropping the syringe into the sink and watching closely, wide-eyed but otherwise unreadable.
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