Drew Karpyshyn - Ascension

"Jiro? What happened to you?" she asked, coming down the path toward him.

She was staring with guarded curiosity at his torn shirt, the scratches on his face and hands, the welt on the side of his head from where Hendel had elbowed him.

"Jiro," she said again, her voice stern. "I want some answers. Where's Hendel?"

"How should I know?" he said, with an easy laugh. "He's your friend, remember?"

If she came just a little closer he might be able to grab her, overpower her before she could run for help. Instead, she stopped just out of reach.

"You signed Gillian out of her room. Where is she?"

Hearing the accusation in her voice he realized he wasn't going to talk his way out of this one.

"Get out of my way," he said coldly, dropping all pretense. "Or you're going to get hurt."

"You're not going anywhere ," she told him, setting her feet and dropping into a fighting crouch. "Not until I know what's going on."

Jiro quickly weighed the situation. He had shaken off the effects of his fight with Hendel; he was young, fit, and he outweighed Kahlee by fifty pounds. He knew she'd had combat training in the military, but he figured the odds were still in his favor. He smiled and shrugged, pretending to give in. Then he leaped at her.

He'd hoped to catch her off-guard, but she hadn't fallen for his simple ruse. Instead, she met his charge with a hard kick to the knee as she spun out of the way. Staggering and off-balance, he swung at her with a fist but caught only air as she slid under his clumsy blow. He whirled to face her, preparing to lunge once again.

He never got the chance. Kahlee shot forward, her left fist jabbing toward his face. He ducked to the side, into the path of an uppercut delivered with her right. It caught him on the side of his jaw, and he grunted in pain, stumbling backward.

His opponent wasn't about to let him get away that easily. She followed up with a flurry of short, quick kicks and punches, deftly blocking and redirecting his ham-fisted counterattacks. A chop to his throat left him gagging for air, a leg sweep sent him crashing to the ground. As he attempted to rise to his feet she landed a knee to his groin, ending thesavage, onesided confrontation.

Kahlee stepped forward and stared down at him where he lay crumpled on the ground, curled up into a fetal ball and clutching at his wounded privates. He tried to beg for mercy, but when he opened his mouth all that came out was a long, low moan of unintelligible pain.

She knelt down beside him,reached out with two fingers, hooked them into his nostrils and gave a slight pull. The pain was excruciating, and he whimpered in terror.

"Now, darling," Kahlee said in a tone dripping with mock sweetness, her fingers still hooked into his nostrils, "I'm going to ask some questions. And you're going to give some answers."

Pain is a good thing, maggot! Lets you know you're still alive!

Reaching Gillian's body, Hendel tilted her head back and forced two hard puffs of air down her throat, then compressed her chest ten times in rapid succession, pressing hard with the heels of his palms just above the bottom of her breastbone. He forced two more puffs of air down her throat, then resumed compressions.

He knew CPR wouldn't start her heart or get her breathing again — those kind of miraculous recoveries only happened on the vids. All he was trying to do was keep the blood circulating and oxygen reaching her brain until real help arrived.

Just keep her alive. Keep her here.

The compressions were exhausting; anything less than one hundred per minute was too low to save her. It was nearly impossible to keep up the grueling pace for more than a few minutes, even under normal conditions. In his present condition it was hopeless.

Don't you dare quit on me! Nobody quits in my army!

His breath was coming in wet, ragged gasps. Beads of sweat from his brow were crawling down his forehead to sting his eyes. The muscles in his arms twitched and trembled, threatening to cramp up with each compression. The world around him dissolved into a hazy cloud of pain and exhaustion as he pumped Gillian's heart for her.

OneTwoThreeFourFiveSixSevenEightNineTen— Breathe-Breathe

OneTwoThreeFourFiveSixSevenEightNineTen— Breathe-Breathe

OneTwoThreeFourFiveSixSevenEightNineTen— Breathe-Breathe

And then hands were on his shoulders, pulling him away. He fought them for a second, feebly, before realizing they were there to help. As soon as he was clear, the two EMTs dropped down by Gillian's side. The first ran his omnitool over her, taking her vitals.

"Code Twelve," he noted, his tone clipped and efficient.

His words spurred both men into action, their efforts perfectly coordinated through hundreds of hours of training. The first snapped open his medic's kit, yanked out a syringe and injected Gillian with a hyperoxygenating compound to replenish the dwindling supplies in her bloodstream.

The other pulled a small, palm-sized device from his belt — even in his hazy condition, Hendel recognized it as a portable defibrillator — and then pressed it against her chest. The EMT hesitated just long enough for his partner to finish injecting the needle and pull clear before flipping the switch, jolting Gillian's heart with a series of concentrated electrical impulses in an effort to restart it.

"I've got a pulse," his partner said a second later, announcing the readings coming off his omnitool. "Oxygen levels look good. I think she's going to pull through!"

Hendel, still halt-sitting, half-lying on the ground where the EMTs had dragged him away from Gillian's body, didn't know whether to laugh with joy or cry with relief. Instead, he collapsed onto his side and slipped into unconsciousness.

Grayson staggered into his living room. He was wearing only his housecoat, with nothing on beneath. His head was still floating from the lingering effects of the red sand he'd taken last night, but when he tried to make the pen on the coffee table dance it just sat there motionless, mocking him.

You're coming down. Cant even move a pen. You'll be sober in another hour if you aren't careful.

He wanted another hit, but instead he forced himself to check for incoming messages. He wasn't surprised to see that Grissom Academy had tried to contact him yet again while he was sleeping.

Or maybe you were so stoned you just didn't hear the call.

This was the fourth time they'd called. He didn't want to listen to the message; the first three had all been about the same thing. Something had happened to Gillian, some kind of accident in the cafeteria. Something to do with her biotics.

The news hadn't come as a surprise. He'd been expecting something like this ever since Pel had shown up with the new dosage. The Illusive Man was patient, but Cerberus had poured too much time and too many resources into Gillian with too few results. The new drugs were evidence that they were escalating the program. Someone had made the decision to push the envelope, to test his daughter's limits in the hopes of forcing a breakthrough. It was inevitable something would happen, good or bad.

You're pathetic. You knew this could harm her, but you went along with it anyway.

He'd accepted the decision because he believed in Cerberus. He believed in what they stood for. He knew there were risks, but he also knew that Gillian might be critical to the long-term survival of the race. The ability to unlock new and amazing biotic potential could be the advantage humans needed to rise above the other species.

Risks had to be taken. Sacrifices had to be made. The Illusive Man understood this better than anyone, which was why Grayson had followed his orders without question. This morning, however, he couldn't help but wonder if that made him a patriot, or just a coward.