Iggy pushed into the lingering light leaking in from the hallway. His eyes were gleaming, but he didn’t reach through the bars, and he wasn’t salivating from his mouth, either. Instead, he was standing still, rather self-restrained and that struck Robert as odd.
“No, no. There’s no need,” the radio responded. “Just let me know when he dies.”
The hair stood up on the back of Robert’s neck and his eyebrows furrowed near the top of his nose. He held the speaker closer to his ear and paced away from the cell. “Can you repeat that?”
Through the radio, the responder sighed and it sounded like a blast of static. “He’s a dumper. The transplant was botched. A failure. No matter what, the left pulmonary artery wouldn’t seal. I tried just about everything. When I asked for the original heart back,
