Matt drifted awake, forcing his eyes open. He gazed around at his surroundings. The room looked similar to the isolation unit at Crimson, with the bed, nightstand, and a few chairs. Air vents ran along the ceiling. Beside the entry door to his left, a single window provided him a view into the hall. On the right was a closet and adjoining bathroom. Pretty unremarkable. He closed his eyes and tried to remember what had happened.

The door opened, and a woman's face appeared over his bed. Matt found himself staring into the cold eyes of Legolas and Jesse's mom. She wore her red hair pulled back into a bun. A stethoscope hung around her neck, and her immaculate lab coat matched the blinding white room. But...hadn't Natalie Foster retired from her medical practice years ago, after her daughter Trinity was born? What the hell was she doing here?

"I'm glad to see you're awake." She held a small penlight in her hand, shining it into Matt's eyes.

Matt winced away from the offending light. "Why did you drug me?"

"We thought it would be best if you were sedated during our initial examination. The first drug knocked you out temporarily, then we administered a sedative through an IV. I know you have questions, but right now, I need to get a blood sample." Dr. Foster snapped on a pair of latex gloves and set a basket of supplies on the nightstand.

She tied a rubber band around Matt's upper arm and wiped the crook of his elbow with an alcohol swab. She slid a needle into his vein, and Matt turned his head away as she filled several vials with dark red blood. If he was lucky, that would be all she wanted. She taped a cotton ball over the puncture spot on his skin.

Matt sat up and threw the covers off. They had taken his clothes while he was unconscious. The thin hospital gown he wore offered little protection against the chill in the room. His hand touched a small bandage on his neck. "What the fuck is this?"

"I had to perform a myocardial biopsy," Dr. Foster explained. She scribbled notes on her clipboard.

"You what?" Matt growled.

"In order to know the extent of the injuries you sustained during our first attempt at contact, I ran a series of scans, and your heart showed abnormalities," the doctor said. "It's a very safe procedure. All we had to do was thread a catheter through a vein in your neck, into your heart, and snip off a few pieces of the heart muscle for testing."

"Spare me the lecture, you had no fucking right to do anything without my permission!" Matt shouted.

"That's where you're wrong, Matthew." Dr. Foster's voice dripped with venom, and she leaned down to hiss in his ear, "Things will go a lot easier for you if you cooperate, so I suggest you think about that before you do anything stupid."

"Hey, what's all the yelling in here?" A tall, muscular man with dark eyes and brown hair slicked back with gel stood in the doorway. He sauntered into the room and leaned against the wall, flashing a toothy smile. "I'm surprised your daddy let you out of the bat cave, Mattie. Nice of you to join us."

Matt stared at Cole Gibbs in disbelief. What had Michael promised Cole to get him on his side? Was Kaine involved? Just how far did this conspiracy go? He met Cole's smile with one of his own. "Does your father know you're a backstabbing piece of shit?"

In an instant, Cole lunged across the room and had his knife at Matt's throat. "I should cut you up now and save Doc the trouble."

Matt's eyes widened, but he didn't move. He felt the tip of the blade press into his skin and recalled that Cole and his older brother were very skilled hunters. They knew how to gut a deer with precision. The thought made him shudder.

"Stop it, we need him alive." Dr. Foster glared at Cole, who immediately withdrew his knife and sat down. The doctor held up a vial of blood. "His particular genetic makeup could hold the secret to winning our fight against Cat and Bane. We can't afford to waste time. I have tests to run this evening that will take several hours. Isn't there something else you could be doing?"

"Kaine kicked me out of his office. He said I should hang around here in case you need help," Cole said. He leaned forward in his chair; his eyes practically glittered with excitement. "Bane is going to freak when he learns that two of his underlings decided to join our side. Just out of curiosity, Matt, what changed your mind? Knowing what would happen once you got here, I didn't think you'd come to us so willingly."

"I have my reasons, not that I'm going to share them with you," Matt said. "Are you saying that your brother is the director of this shithole?"

Before Cole could reply, a heavyset woman with auburn hair walked in. She pushed a wheelchair over to the bed, and Matt read the name on a keycard clipped to her green scrub top. Sheryl Downs. She used to be a nurse at the hospital; Komazzi had gone round and round with her many times over the years. Until they fired her six years ago.

"Cole, help me get him up and into the chair," Sheryl demanded. Still a raging bitch, apparently.

"No, I can do it myself," Matt insisted. He wanted to keep as much distance between himself and Cole as possible. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up. A weird dizzy sensation crashed over him, and he rubbed his forehead, blinking to clear his vision as spots swam in front of his eyes. He wondered if it was a lingering side effect of being drugged. Whatever they were using must be really strong. He sat in the chair and waited for the room to stop spinning. If he fainted again, who knows what they would do?

Sheryl wheeled his chair into a treatment room, painted stark white. It looked just like a doctor's office, with a sink and cabinet in one corner, and the padded table in the middle.

Matt didn't have any time to think, to even prepare for what came next. They laid him on the examination table, on his stomach. Dr. Foster moved aside the gown, exposing his lower back and hips. The distinct smell of antiseptic filled his nose as they cleaned his skin with Betadine.

"His powers may be stronger when the virus is active, giving us a better opportunity to study them," Dr. Foster said. "We should be able to determine whether or not viral cells are present with a bone marrow aspiration."

Matt's hands clutched the sheet underneath him. Bone marrow...where had he heard that before? Thinking back, he vaguely remembered having the test done years ago, but his doctor had given him a sedative. When he glimpsed the needle in Dr. Foster's hand, his stomach churned. It looked a foot long. He tensed up, realizing they weren't going to use any anesthetic.

Matt cringed as the needle was stabbed into his right hip, breaking the skin in one swift motion. That action initially hurt, but suddenly he felt pressure as the needle twisted into his hip bone.

Excruciating pain washed over him, radiating through his back and shooting down his legs. He willed himself to breathe. He bit his lower lip, trembling with each wave of pain as they drew the marrow into a syringe. If he showed weakness, Bane and the others would never think he was truly one of them. Everyone was counting on him and James to uncover the organization's secrets.

When they pulled out the needle, he finally allowed his body to relax. But his nightmare was far from over...they were just getting started.

* * *

Matt lay in bed and stared blankly at the ceiling. He needed to stay alert, but fatigue dulled his senses. The door burst open and wheels squeaked on the tile. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried not to panic as two pairs of hands lifted him onto a gurney. Matt remained still as the bed he lay on was pushed out of the room. He had no idea where they were taking him. He was actually terrified of hospitals; ever since he was thirteen, he couldn't stand to be in one, no matter what the reason.

The gurney rolled down a long hallway. He cracked his eyes open and saw bright lights overhead. They transferred him onto a stainless steel table. Sheryl removed his gown and covered his naked body with sterile drapes. They strapped his arms and legs to the table. Masked faces loomed over him, their eyes devoid of any emotion.

"Where am I?" Matt mumbled. He grimaced as Sheryl jabbed a needle into the back of his hand. Clear fluid dripped from a plastic bag into a tube inserted in his vein.

Dr. Foster tugged off her mask. "I'm going to test your accelerated healing," she explained, swabbing his bare chest with rubbing alcohol. "I've never heard of anyone recovering from open heart surgery as quickly as you did, considering how sick you were." She moved over to a tray beside the table and picked up a scalpel in her gloved hand.

The sharp instrument gleamed in the light, and fear wrapped its icy tendrils around Matt.

Tears brimmed in his eyes as it sunk in that there was nothing he could do to stop her. Dr. Foster cut into his chest. Blood oozed from the wound, accompanied by stinging pain. He flinched as she made a second incision below his collarbone.

The so-called test continued for nearly two hours as they sliced open his arms, legs, and chest, and waited for the cuts to heal. He prayed silently that maybe someone would come to his rescue. He screamed and begged for it to stop until his throat ached. But they ignored him. He felt really lightheaded, everything slowly becoming hazy.

He thought it was over when Dr. Foster wiped off the scalpel. "I need to monitor the healing time for deeper tissue incisions before we go ahead with more invasive surgical procedures," she told Sheryl in a low voice.

But Matt heard every word, loud and clear. He grit his teeth and choked back a sob. Dr. Foster lowered the scalpel again, the sharp blade cutting a deep red line across his stomach. Blood glistened on his skin. There was so much blood. White-hot agony seized him. His heavy eyelids drooped closed, and he passed out.

* * *

A persistent beeping wrenched Matt out of his stupor, back into the harshness of reality.

He immediately wished for the comforting darkness to ensnare him once more. Everything hurt. Wires attached to his chest led to a machine beside his bed. Green lines etched peaks and valleys across the screen. A heart monitor. He sat up with an effort; pain flared in his midsection. He sank weakly back down against his pillows and wondered how much blood he had lost.

Something Dr. Foster had said in the lab flooded back to him. The organization knew about his relapse. But how? They had taken every precaution to avoid leaks. Maybe Edwin had succeeded in getting them his files...

Matt's head throbbed. He needed to get out of this stuffy room. Carefully, he pulled himself upright again and slipped out of bed. His knees buckled, and he grabbed the bed rail for support. He peeled the wires off his chest and tossed them carelessly onto the bed. The monitor went haywire, a shrill whine piercing the air, threatening to destroy any chance he had of leaving.

Matt limped into the hallway, the floor like ice cubes under his bare feet.

A door stood ajar at the end of the hall, a glowing sign above it said exit...his tired brain contemplated escape. Could it really be that easy to walk through there and never come back?

He walked forward, ignoring the way his body screamed in protest. If he stayed here in this crazy basement, it would only continue to get worse. He stopped when two figures blocked his path to freedom. Dr. Foster and Macnair. Matt's hope evaporated as the Irishman slammed the door shut.

Dr. Foster pressed some buttons on a keypad attached to the door, and a lock clicked into place. "You should be resting," she insisted, frowning at Matt in disapproval. She ran her fingers over a cut on Matt's arm that stretched from his wrist, all the way up his forearm. No swelling, and the incision had faded to a light pink. She released his arm and scanned the hallway. "Who left this door open? I've told everyone that it's to stay locked at all times!"

Cole poked his head out of a room on the right. "Sorry, Kaine wanted me to get a jump drive," he said. A grin spread across his face. "Wow, Mattie, I didn't expect you to be out of bed yet. I wish I could heal that fast!"

"If we can find a way to replicate his abilities, you might be able to. But we still don't know how everything works," Dr. Foster mused. A sinister smile graced her lips, and she took a hypodermic needle from the pocket of her lab coat. "Cole, call Dalston. I'm going to need his help...and tell Sheryl to prep the OR."