When HEROES don't come HOME

Chapter Twenty-Five – The Meeting

The late afternoon light filtered through the hospital’s high windows, washing the corridors in a pale glow. Nurses moved briskly, carts rattled, voices murmured low and practical. The place smelled of antiseptic, coffee that had sat too long on a burner, and the faint copper tang of blood. Emily Carter tied off a suture with quick, precise movements. The young soldier on the cot hissed through his teeth as she pulled the thread taut. “Almost done,” she murmured, her voice steady, though her mind still felt like a battlefield of its own. “You’ll be fine.” The soldier gave a faint grin. “Ma’am, I’ll take your word for it.” Emily covered the stitches with gauze, taped it down, and scribbled notes on the chart clipped at the end of his bed. Her thoughts were already moving to the next patient, to the endless rhythm of work. At the far end of the hall, the automatic doors slid open. The sound of heels on tile rang out like a metronome. Every head turned, even if just for a second. Voss entered the wing. She didn’t belong here—not in her tailored navy suit, not with her silk blouse and the faint perfume that smelled more like boardrooms than blood. She carried no clipboard, no warmth, no trace of exhaustion. What she carried instead was authority. And she wore it like armor. Behind her walked two men in civilian dress, bodyguards by their gait, but they stayed outside the glass doors as she passed through. Emily barely noticed; she was focused on changing gloves, double-checking supplies. But others did notice. A young medic muttered under his breath, “What’s she doing here?” before snapping his mouth shut. Voss didn’t glance left or right. Her eyes were locked forward, sharp as blades. She cut across the ward, heading straight for Commander Matthews’s office. --- Inside, the atmosphere was already tense. Matthews sat behind his desk, papers stacked around him, his jaw set with fatigue. He was a man carrying more weight than one body should. Hudson, in contrast, prowled the floor like a restless animal, his broad shoulders filling the space, his face ruddy with barely contained anger. When Voss entered, silence fell. She closed the door herself, the click loud in the quiet room. “Gentlemen,” she said with a faint nod. “Let’s not waste time. We’ve checked the technician’s computer. Yes—she managed to copy the names. The survivors of the serum trials. Not intact, but alive.” Matthews’s face tightened. “Then it’s only a matter of time before that list surfaces. If oversight gets wind—” Hudson spun on his heel, his voice a bark. “Oversight? Tribunals? Do you hear yourself? We’ve put millions into this program. HelixCore’s labs, equipment, contractors, logistics—years of investment. If we stop now, if we let some coward’s stolen list unravel it, then everything is lost.” Matthews pushed back from the desk, his knuckles white. “Lost? What’s lost are men. Soldiers. Humans. Not numbers in your ledger, Hudson. How many more do you need to break before you call it enough?” Hudson’s lips peeled back in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “You sound like a priest, Matthews. These men signed on. They wore the uniform. They gave their lives to service. If their bodies help the next generation win wars, then that’s a higher purpose than most of them would ever dream of.” Voss stepped between them, her tone colder than ice. “Enough. Both of you.” The men fell silent, but the loathing in their eyes didn’t fade—toward each other, or toward her. “You don’t need new recruits,” Voss continued calmly. “You already have a stable of subjects. They signed papers—consent, waivers, NDAs. They are legally ours. Their blood, their bodies. Do you really want to risk the noise and expense of recruiting fresh soldiers when you already own the ones you have?” Hudson’s nostrils flared, but his eyes gleamed. “Exactly.” Matthews slammed a palm against the desk. “Owned? They’re not cattle!” Voss tilted her head, her expression as flat as stone. “To Congress, to the Pentagon, to every man who signed those contracts, they’re property. They’re investments. And investments must pay out.” For a moment, Hudson and Matthews exchanged a glance—not agreement, but something more primal. Mutual disgust. Voss was the type they both despised: a predator in a tailored suit, someone who could chew you up, strip you to the bone, and spit you out without hesitation. They disliked each other, but at least Hudson understood rage and Matthews understood honor. Voss? She understood only leverage. And that made her dangerous. Matthews rose suddenly, his chair scraping back. His voice thundered across the room. “Then explain something to me, Voss. Why is Emily Carter still alive?” The silence after the question was heavy as lead. Voss arched a brow. “Why shouldn’t she be?” Matthews’s face flushed. “Because you clearly see her as a liability. And let me make this clear—I will not sanction her death. She has done nothing but ask questions about her husband. If this institution lowers itself to murdering widows for daring to want the truth, then we are no longer soldiers. We are monsters.” Hudson gave a sharp laugh, cruel and humorless. “Monsters? No. Pragmatists. Accidents happen every day, Commander. A car on a rainy night. A misprescribed dose. A fall down the stairs. You’d be surprised how easy it is.” Matthews’s fists clenched. “Not while I’m breathing.” The tension in the air was a live wire, ready to snap. Voss only smoothed the sleeve of her jacket. “Gentlemen. Spare me your theatrics. The priority is clear. The survivors will be recalled to HelixCore’s Lab. Further testing will continue.” Matthews’s jaw dropped. “They’re already broken. Some don’t even remember their own names—” Hudson cut him off, voice like a whip. “Then they’ll break again. And if they die, they die. Their data doesn’t.” Voss’s smile was thin, predatory. “Exactly.” She collected her folder, tucking it neatly under her arm, and walked toward the door. Her heels struck the floor in measured beats, as if counting down a clock neither man could stop. --- Out in the hall, Emily emerged from a side room, arms full of charts. She was focused on her notes, on the endless rhythm of work—one patient after another. She didn’t hear the shouting, didn’t sense the storm that had raged behind closed doors. But when Voss stepped out, their paths crossed. For a fraction of a second, Emily looked up. Their eyes locked. Voss’s expression didn’t soften. Her lips curved in the faintest smile—not warmth, not politeness. Something sharper. Mockery. As if she knew a secret Emily didn’t. Emily blinked, unsettled. A chill traced her spine, though she couldn’t have said why. To her, it was just another passing stranger. But the echo of that smile lingered.