The Night Sweeper: Assassin: a Zombie Conspiracy Novel (The Sweeper Chronicles book 2)
“At times, I feel as though I can hardly breathe.
She looks angelic and peaceful, lying there in the metagenic chamber as Damian calls it; in my estimation, it looks too much like a coffin. Multicolored tubes snake around her, leading to and from intravenous lines and electrodes and strange machines I have no name for. An unusual smell fills my nostrils – antiseptic mixed with something I can’t place.
Something I’ve never smelled before. Something tart and acrid.
My head still pounds from the co...ncussion and perhaps equally from my desperation. Just when I thought Damian may not have been as bad as I believed, he goes and pulls a stunt like this, his own flesh and blood, demanding I become an assassin. And yet there’s a part of me that doesn’t cringe at the idea. Far from it. It’s a darker part of myself that I fear to explore and fear to let out of its cage.
I wish I could talk to Mira, to ask her what she thinks, to hear the soothing softness of her voice. Instead, I'm left with my own mechanical reasoning, and no matter how I reason it, I can’t think of another option.MoreLess
She looks angelic and peaceful, lying there in the metagenic chamber as Damian calls it; in my estimation, it looks too much like a coffin. Multicolored tubes snake around her, leading to and from intravenous lines and electrodes and strange machines I have no name for. An unusual smell fills my nostrils – antiseptic mixed with something I can’t place.
Something I’ve never smelled before. Something tart and acrid.
My head still pounds from the co...ncussion and perhaps equally from my desperation. Just when I thought Damian may not have been as bad as I believed, he goes and pulls a stunt like this, his own flesh and blood, demanding I become an assassin. And yet there’s a part of me that doesn’t cringe at the idea. Far from it. It’s a darker part of myself that I fear to explore and fear to let out of its cage.
I wish I could talk to Mira, to ask her what she thinks, to hear the soothing softness of her voice. Instead, I'm left with my own mechanical reasoning, and no matter how I reason it, I can’t think of another option.MoreLess
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