Part 4: Sedation Protocol
Summary:
Riven stays hidden for two days. No movement. No light. No sound. He thinks he's bought time. He hasn't. Because the next phase of the plan isn't pursuit — it's sedation. And by the time he realizes, it's already in his blood.
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The drainage tunnel behind the chemical district was a dead zone.
No signal.
No traffic.
Just rust, mildew, and dripping silence.
Riven stayed there.
Twenty-six hours. Maybe more.
Didn't move except to stretch.
Didn't eat.
Didn't sleep.
He barely blinked.
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His breath came shallow now.
Body tense.
Mind tight.
It was like being back on the job again — deep stakeout mode. Nerves wired too tight to relax.
Only this time, he wasn't the one watching.
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By the second night, the headache started.
Not sharp — dull. Low. Sitting right behind his eyes, like heat leaking from a pipe.
He pressed his palm to his forehead. Rubbed hard. Didn't help.
His joints felt stiff. Muscles too heavy.
He hadn't done anything strenuous since the run. Nothing that should've caused this kind of fog.
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His stomach rolled.
Then his vision blurred.
Just for a second.
Then again.
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He sat up straight — too fast — and the world spun.
> No. No, no, no—
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He tried to stand. His knees buckled.
The metal floor swayed under him, even though it wasn't moving.
He crawled toward the edge of the tunnel — where the light leaked in through a broken grate.
Gripped the wall.
His hands were sweating.
Not from heat.
From panic.
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The last thing he remembered tasting was the water bottle from the vending machine at the edge of District South.
Hours ago. Maybe more.
It hadn't been sealed.
He thought it was a lucky find.
> They didn't need to catch me, he thought, as his fingers slipped from the wall.
They just needed me to feel safe for one second.
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He collapsed onto the grate. Cold metal pressed into his cheek.
The last sound he heard was a low buzz —
the hum of wheels,
a van door sliding open,
and boots stepping over wet stone.
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He didn't feel the needle.
He was already gone.
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