Breed Book 3, Part 11

“You look bad. Really, really bad.” Cris could tell it was a woman’s voice, and that she was young, teenaged, probably.

He couldn’t really open his eyes, and when he tried to reach up to his face to understand why, his hand stopped after six inches. He could feel the metal collar o the cuff holding him to the bed. “Oh, right. I fell down a spiral staircase at a policeman’s ball.”

“That… sounds very unlikely,”

“Little help?” he asked. “Need to get my hand to my face.”

“Sure,” she said. He felt a sharp pain in his wrist as his hand was twisted at an unnatural angle, then felt the spongy, swollen flesh around his eye. He’d felt injuries like that before, seen how bad they were, and the thought made him wince- which was a terrible idea because it moved all the damaged meat around, scraping against what he now felt fairly certain was a broken cheek bone. The pain nearly made him black out.

“Fuuuugh,” he moaned.

“You sound like a mummy. But you’re not at all dressed like one.” Cris could feel warmth in his face as it began to heal. “Uh,” she said, concerned, letting go of his hand. The swelling in his eyes had receded enough he could open them to see the young woman talking to him. She wasn’t wearing a staff uniform, but the clothing of a detainee. “You can heal,” she said, surprised. “That could come in really useful around here.”

“Surprised,” he said, “they don’t block our abilities.”

“I’ve heard rumors,” she said, “that they have the tech. But it’s experimental, finicky, expensive. They just threaten to shoot us if we use them; and in the event we can block bullets or whatever, they’ll shoot somebody else.”


“Just use it discreetly. But please, use it. ICE hurt a lot of people in here. We could really use someone like you.”

“I don’t mean to just staunch the bleeding. We need to end it.”

“Given the shape you arrived here in, I guess good luck with that. My name’s Angela, by the way. And if anybody asks, I didn’t hear any of that.”

”Cris. And you’re right. I need to be more discreet. Channel that anger into something useful. Like a revolution.” Angela raised her hand, but he stopped her. “I heard it, yeah; I think I might have a mild concussion. Should probably fix that before I say something I’ll regret.”

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