When HEROES don't come HOME

Chapter Seventeen – The Chair

The corridor to the lab was cold and sterile, humming with fluorescent lights. Colonel Matthews pushed through the heavy doors, his jaw set like stone. The smell of antiseptic and steel struck his nostrils at once.

On the other side of the glass, chaos ruled.

A soldier was strapped into a reinforced chair, body convulsing with feral energy. Five men struggled to restrain him—two on his shoulders, two on his legs, one braced across his chest. The chair itself rattled against the floor bolts, the soldier’s eyes burning wide, whites red-veined, pupils shrunk to pinpricks. His mouth foamed as he roared, spittle flying.

“Hold him!” someone yelled, their voice breaking.

Matthews entered, boots loud against the tile. His eyes locked on the storm in front of him, fury and dread mingling in his chest.

Dr. Mara Voss appeared from the side, calm in her white coat, her gloved hand steady as she prepared a syringe. She moved with the precision of ritual, leaned close, and slid the needle into the soldier’s neck. The plunger went down smooth.

The change was almost immediate. The soldier’s eyes rolled back, muscles relaxing in jerks until his body sagged into the straps. His chest rose and fell in ragged, slowing breaths. The five restrainers staggered back, wiping sweat from their brows, exchanging shaken glances.

Matthews’s lip curled. “What the hell was that?”

“An adrenergic storm,” Voss said coolly, peeling her gloves. “He hit saturation within minutes. The serum destabilized.”

“You told me Subject Eleven was stable.”

“I told you he had the best odds,” she corrected. “Odds aren’t guarantees. His system collapsed under the cascade.”

Matthews jabbed a finger toward the unconscious soldier. “That looked like collapse? It looked like a monster ready to rip out throats.”

She tilted her head. “That is collapse. The body overclocking itself until it fails. The panic, the aggression—it’s the alarm bell before the shutdown.”

Matthews stalked closer to the chair. The soldier twitched faintly in his bonds, eyelids fluttering. Even sedated, there was something unnatural about the heaviness of his chest, the tremor in his arms.

Matthews lowered his voice. “That strength… it took five men to hold him. And for what? A single injection?”

Voss lifted a brow, saying nothing.

“What if it comes back?” Matthews pressed, voice sharper now. “You sedated him, fine. But what about later? Two hours from now, tomorrow, when he’s back in the barracks and suddenly the switch flips again? What if that rage wakes up in the middle of the night?”

For the first time, his anger cracked into fear. He leaned closer, eyes still on the soldier.

“Imagine it, Doctor,” he whispered harshly. “A man like that, snapping in a live unit. Turning on his squad, tearing through them before anyone understands what’s happening. It wouldn’t matter what war you built this serum for—we’d have one inside our own walls. Do you want that blood on your hands? Because it won’t be mine.”

Voss’s reply was flat. “Panic aggression burns out quickly. It doesn’t linger.”

“You sound damn sure.” Matthews’s hands trembled as he turned on her. “I just watched him fight like an animal. If that fury wakes up again, your graphs won’t mean a thing.”

For a moment silence filled the lab, broken only by the beeping monitors. Matthews finally pulled back, but the unease stayed in his eyes.

He snapped, louder now: “You nearly destroyed another one! Do you know what this looks like?”

Voss met his fury without blinking. “It looks like data. Failure is data. That is how science works.”

“Don’t you lecture me,” Matthews snarled. “I told you no more failures. The board wants results. Not another broken soldier.”

“He’ll live,” Voss said simply. “Headaches, tremors, nightmares. But intact.”

“Intact?” Matthews barked. “He looks like a corpse strapped upright!”

She didn’t flinch. “You asked me to push biology past its limits. This is what that looks like.”

Matthews’s chest heaved. For a second, he thought about tearing the IV lines out himself, just to prove he was still in control. Instead, he ground out: “You promised me progress without burning men.”

“I promised the vector could stabilize in controlled settings,” Voss said. “You insisted on soldiers. Don’t confuse your demands with my guarantees.”

His fists curled. “No more candidates. Not until you fix this.”

“Then you starve the project,” she answered coldly. “Biology won’t bend to your deadlines. Kellan may want miracles on slides, but he’ll get nothing but corpses if you push pace.”

Matthews turned away, dragging a hand down his face. The fury was back, covering his fear. “Goddammit.”

Then his head snapped up. “The leak. Did you find it?”

Voss’s expression cooled further. “Yes. A lab technician. She accessed files she had no clearance for. Tried to move them off-site.”

Matthews’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “And?”

“Resolved,” she said.

“Resolved how?”

Voss allowed a small smile. “She won’t be opening files again. A car accident at two a.m. is tragic, but not suspicious. No one will connect it.”

Matthews froze. “You had her killed.”

“I preserved the project,” Voss corrected, voice smooth as glass. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

The air between them curdled. Matthews stared at her—half fury, half reluctant admiration. She was a surgeon carving through problems with ice for blood. And even he, a man who had sent hundreds to their deaths, found her chilling.

“Make sure whoever she spoke to is dealt with,” he said finally.

“It’s being handled,” Voss replied. “Her devices are scrubbed, her apartment cleared. Nothing remains.”

Matthews stalked toward the door, then stopped, his voice low. “And the widow?”

“Emily Carter?” Voss asked without looking up.

“Yes. She’s making noise.”

“Noise is useful,” Voss said, eyes on her tablet. “It keeps people busy while we work.”

Matthews lingered another moment, then left, boots echoing down the sterile corridor.

Behind him, Voss entered her notes with meticulous precision. Subject Eleven. Panic aggression. Sedated. Adjust vector. Increase pre-load.

The soldier moaned in his straps, twitching in half-consciousness. Voss didn’t glance at him again. To her, he was no longer a man—just another datapoint.