Reapers: The Shadow Soldiers by Josh Collins

head as a drum.
    Opening his eyes, a stark-white ceiling with bright lights overwhelmed him, causing everything to become ten times worse.  
    He rolled over and waited for the pain to wear off. It was clear that this wasn’t the trashy Tamberbuilt apartment he’d passed out in, but whatever it was, it was quite possibly the worst place to spend a morning with a hangover—and that was after he’d awoken in a trash-filled alley the day before.  
    Sitting up slowly on a hard bed with no sheets, he squinted his eyes. It didn’t look like anybody else was in the room. In fact, it didn’t look like anything else was in the room. It was bleak and empty, like some sort of purgatory.  
    He threw his legs over the edge of the bed and tried to stand, but the pulsating headache got to him. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to fight through the pain.  
    After a few minutes, he opened his eyes and looked around the room some more. Except for the gray floor, the room was almost purely white walls and white ceilings. It wasn’t a sterile white though—the metal used for the paneling made it look almost industrial. He also noticed a door to his left that all but blended into the wall.
    Standing weakly, he held onto the frame of the bed as he cautiously hobbled toward this door. He was surprised when it suddenly hissed open by itself. Standing in its place was a tall, muscular, dark-skinned man who wore gray military fatigues. This man had a strong face with an uncompromisingly black mustache and similarly colored buzz cut hair.  
    Even though it was futile to battle in his current state, Burns balled up his fist, readying for a fight. The man noticed and slowly showed his hands out of caution.
    “Be at ease; we are friends,” he assured him. “My name is Marcus Rhett.”  
    Burns gave a slight, apprehensive nod. Trust never really came easy for him these days. Nevertheless, if he were to survive in his current physical state, he’d have to at least attempt to be diplomatic.
    “Rhett,” he acknowledged, still on guard. Rhett slightly bowed his head as he stepped into the room, door hissing shut behind him.
    “I came to see how you were doing—subspace travel is not to be taken lightly,” he informed calmly.  
    Burns squinted his eyes again. “Subspace? What kind of place is this?” he wondered out loud.  
    Rhett seemed troubled with the answer. “I’m afraid I’m not at liberty to divulge that information,” he said, circling around Burns and causing the man to become uneasy. “I’m sorry if your questions are not fully answered, but the nature of the work done here is best kept a secret.”  
    Oh, that kind of place, Burns thought to himself.
    “Now, if you would walk with me. We have a schedule to keep,” Rhett said as he arrived back at the door and motioned for Burns to follow.  
    Burns took a deep breath and then hobbled forward. He still wasn’t sure about this place, but Rhett seemed alright. He’d at least tried to be calm.  
    As they came out of the door, they were immediately led into a long hallway. This hallway looked to be furnished in a way that was similar to the room: white walls and bright lights, only it bestowed Burns the fortune of windows and a gray generator every so often. The windows seemed to peer into a giant hanger that existed underneath the hall. The hanger housed a varying ensemble of aircraft, based upon designs that looked alien to Burns.  
    Rhett noticed his interest and spoke again. “Impressive, aren’t they?” he exclaimed.  
    Burns nodded back. “Indeed. I’ve never seen anything like them before.”  
    “They’re…prototypes. Everything in this facility is a prototype.”  
    Burns wondered how many things he’d used throughout his life that were originally designed here. He didn’t even know what here was. He saw plenty of workers, but the work itself was still a mystery to him.
    “This facility...what is it?” he asked Rhett as they continued down