Lazarus Protocol

Chapter 4: Enter Sarah Reeves

The acrid smell of smoke and cordite hung heavy in the air as Alexander stared into the cold eyes of the man who claimed to know him. Time seemed to slow, stretching like taffy as his mind raced, searching for a way out of this impossible situation.

"I don't know you," Alexander said, his voice low and steady despite the hammering of his heart. "I don't know any of this."

The man's smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, but you do, Alex. Deep down, you know exactly who I am. Who you are. What you've done."

A flash of movement caught Alexander's eye. One of the black-clad operatives was raising a weapon - not a gun, but something that looked like a high-tech dart gun. Tranquilizers, most likely. They wanted him alive.

Alexander's body reacted before his mind could process the threat. He lunged forward, using the element of surprise to his advantage. His shoulder connected with the lead man's solar plexus, driving the air from his lungs. In the same fluid motion, Alexander grabbed the man's arm, using his momentum to fling him into his compatriots.

The room erupted into chaos. Alexander moved with a grace and precision that belied his amnesia, his muscle memory taking over where conscious thought failed. He dodged a wild swing, countering with a vicious elbow strike that sent another attacker reeling.

But he was outnumbered and cornered. A lucky punch caught him in the ribs, sending a lance of pain through his side. He stumbled, and in that moment of vulnerability, he felt the sharp sting of a dart in his neck.

The effect was almost immediate. The world began to tilt and blur, sounds becoming muffled and distant. Alexander fought against the encroaching darkness, but it was a losing battle. As he sank to his knees, the last thing he saw was the lead man's face, watching him with a mixture of triumph and... was that regret?

Then the darkness took him, and Alexander Kincaid knew no more.

Consciousness returned slowly, reluctantly. Alexander became aware of sensations in stages: the soft whisper of sheets against his skin, the steady beep of medical equipment, the antiseptic smell that screamed "hospital" in any language.

He kept his eyes closed, feigning continued unconsciousness as he took stock of his situation. His wrists and ankles were restrained, but not too tightly. An IV line in his arm, probably feeding him a cocktail of drugs to keep him compliant. The air was cool and dry - climate-controlled.

Voices drifted to him, just on the edge of hearing.

"...remarkable recovery. His physiology is adapting to the Lazarus protocol even better than we'd hoped."

"And his memory?"

"Still suppressed, as far as we can tell. But there's no way to be certain without a full cognitive workup."

"That won't be necessary. Prepare him for transport. The Director wants him at the main facility as soon as possible."

Alexander's mind raced. The Lazarus protocol? The Director? Each new piece of information only deepened the mystery surrounding his identity and his current predicament.

He heard footsteps approaching his bed and forced himself to remain still, his breathing slow and even. A hand touched his arm, checking the IV line.

"Increase the sedative dose," a voice said. "We can't risk him waking up during transit."

This was his chance. It was now or never.

Alexander's eyes snapped open. Before the startled nurse could react, he surged upward, snapping the wrist restraints with a strength he didn't know he possessed. In one fluid motion, he ripped out the IV line and swung his legs off the bed, ignoring the burning pain as the ankle restraints cut into his flesh.