The hours crawled by as Mark and Rooke mixed and matched ingredients, stopping only for lunch and dinner. There were a handful times when Mark was confident he’d recreated the concoction that gave him his invulnerability. When that happened, Rooke would lift out a mouse from its cage and splash it with the chemical. Most of their attempts yielded no results. The purplish liquid would stick to the fur, and each mouse only cleaned itself. Only once did the liquid seep into the skin. During that attempt Rooke had eagerly loomed over the mouse, watching it twitch and spasm as the chemicals took effect. Unfortunately, the small creature had flopped down dead. Rooke tried stabbing it with a scalpel but was unable to break the skin.
“Can’t have anybody dying when we use this,” he had said, disposing of the mouse. “Wouldn’t be much use to us beyond being a literal human shield.” He chuckled. “But we’re closer now, I think. Back to the drawing board.”
In the late hours of the night, Rooke put away the ingredients. “We’ll continue tomorrow with some more samples,” he said. The two of them were the last to leave the laboratory. They took the elevator back upstairs so Rooke could grab some personal items from his office. While he did, Mark stared longingly at the spare bedroom nearby. It was so inviting. He shivered at the thought of heading home to face his father.
When Rooke came back, he beckoned Mark to come along. “I’ll take you home.”
However, Mark stayed still, continuing to look at the bedroom. “Actually, is it alright if I stay here tonight?” he asked, pointing at the room. When Rooke looked at him quizzically, he added, “That way I’ll already be here for work tomorrow.”
Rooke studied him for a moment and then shrugged. “Sure, if you’d like. Bathroom and shower are down the hall and there’s a minifridge in the room with snacks. I like your work ethic,” he said, smiling. He closed the elevator doors and Mark was left alone.
Mark retired to the room, one burden lifted from his shoulders as he settled into bed. Yet he was plagued by Rooke’s behavior and Whyte’s chilling demeanor. He was certain that he shouldn’t reveal his weakness. Whyte’s already been doubtful of my use. Who knows what he’d want to do if I told him about my fire flaw? Rooke would just carry out whatever order Whyte gave him to take care of me. These were not people to be trifled with, and Mark knew he was already in too deep.
Heather’s advice came back to him. “You’ll lose yourself.” Was being subservient to Rooke what she’d meant? Will I have to bow to Whyte’s wishes, too?
He yawned. It was late. Such heavy issues demanded a clear mind and a good night’s rest. He had a little trouble falling asleep but soon nodded off, dreaming of shooting Rooke. Heather stood appraisingly over Mark, tearing off pieces of the boy to mold into more bullets.