Chapter 21
Iwas so fucking close.
Milo was standing next to the stack, looking as shell-shocked as I was feeling. The cage that I’d spent most of the last two years rotting in mocked me, and I did my best not to look at it so I could focus on the task at hand.
It would be nothing but a pile of rubble soon.
Making a beeline for the desk, I quickly sorted through the devices scattered across the matte black surface.
I was looking for a very specific NeuroExtractor. I needed it to finish the last phase of this plan, and it was the only reason I’d come back to this hellhole in the first place.
It took longer than I would have liked, as it seemed the good doctor must have had someone else screwing around in my place once I’d escaped, but finally I found it.
I’d scratched a small ‘<3’ into the casing of the one I needed—back in the early days when I’d still had some semblance of hope left.
Resisting the urge to literally punch the air in triumph, I stuffed it into one of the pockets in my tactical pants that had a zipper, so I had no chance of losing it if I needed to fight my way out of here.
Finally, I was able to turn my attention to Milo, who was pale and shaking like a leaf.
NOVA’s evacuation notice was still blaring, and I had a feeling we didn’t have much time to get out of here before I would need to start shooting my way out.
“You wanna see your mom?” I asked, turning my entire head to face him so he would understand I was looking at him, even with the mask.
He nodded, his brown eyes wide and almost comically large behind those big glasses of his.
I held out a gloved hand to him, and like a tiny trusting woodland creature, he came to me.
He slipped his fingers into mine, and even through the leather, I felt a shock of comfort, knowing that I was touching him and that he was safe.
“Then try to keep up. Things are going to move very quickly. No matter what happens, stay close. You stick with me, and you live. Understood?”
He stared at me, quivering slightly in terror, and as much as I wished I had time to be patient with him, I fucking didn’t.
“Milo!” I barked, and he jumped. “Is that understood?” I repeated, slipping one of several handguns I had on me out of a holster on my harness.
Milo stared at the gun and swallowed, but to my relief, he finally nodded and managed to get out a shaky,
“Y-yes, I understand.”
“Good. Let’s go.”