Page 39 of Aliens Love Curves

"Five. Four."

Her eyes meet mine, filled with tears and determination. "I love you," she whispers.

"Three."

The needle touches her neck.

"Two."

She pushes the plunger.

"One."

The empty syringe falls from Casey's fingers, clattering against the floor with a sound that echoes in my soul. Her eyes glaze over, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of colour remains. The vibrant, fierce woman I love disappears behind a chemical veil.

"Excellent." Harlan approaches her with the confidence of a man who's won. His fingers trace her jaw, tilt her face up to his. She doesn't resist. Doesn't even blink. My claws dig into my palms hard enough to draw blood. "The control serum worksperfectly. You'll fly exactly as directed today, won't you, my dear?"

"Yes." Casey's voice is flat, emotionless. Empty of everything that makes herher.

Something primal breaks loose in my chest. I lunge forward despite the rifle, rage overwhelming caution. The guard's weapon cracks across my skull, but I barely feel it through the fury.

"Take him to holding," Harlan orders, still stroking Casey's face. "Once the race starts, dispose of him quietly. We can't have any... complications."

The guards drag me toward the door. I fight like a wild thing, desperate to reach her. "I'll find you!" My voice breaks with the force of my promise. "Whatever it takes, Casey, I'll—"

Electric agony rips through me as a stun blast cuts off my words. The world goes dark.

I wake to the distant rumble of racing engines. The holding cell is small, bare except for a metal bench and a surveillance camera. My head throbs where the rifle struck, but my mind is crystalline clear with purpose.

These guards made two critical mistakes.

First, they didn't search me thoroughly enough to find the encrypted communicator hidden in my tail scales – a rookie error when dealing with an Enforcer.

Second, they assumed standard restraints could hold someone trained to escape them.

The next few minutes are a blur of calculated violence. When it ends, two guards lie unconscious and I'm running through maintenance corridors, their blood still wet on my claws. My tail absorbs the impact of each stride as I navigate the complex's maze-like structure.

"Backup team, report," I bark into the communicator, voice rough with urgency.

"In position." Zara's calm tone centres me. "All units ready. Awaiting your signal."

"Change of plans. Casey's been compromised – control serum. We move as soon as the race starts. Teams two and three focus on medical facility containment. Team one with me for Casey's extraction during first lap."

I reach an observation point just as the racers take their positions. My heart stops when I spot Casey. She sits perfectly still in her glider, back rigid, eyes forward. Not a trace of her usual pre-race excitement shows on her face. No last-minute checks of her controls, no subtle adjustments to her position. Just empty obedience.

"Teams confirmed," Zara reports. "Standing by."

The starting horn blares across the complex. Gliders shoot into the sky like arrows loosed from a bow. Even under chemical control, Casey's flying is breathtaking – precise, powerful, perfect.

And completely wrong.

Gone is her creative flair, her joy in pushing boundaries. The way she used to dance with gravity itself. This is programmed perfection, soulless and cold.

I've never known hatred like what I feel for Harlan in this moment.

"First curve approaching," a team leader reports. "Ready to move on your mark."

I watch Casey's glider bank into the turn, remembering her laugh, her passion, the way she felt in my arms last night. The way she said "I love you" before injecting that poison into her veins.