BUREAU 13: DOOMSDAY EXAM

Because the remaining two were bull males, a lot bigger than him, and #1 would need any form of equalization if he was to save the creators from the wrongful wrath of the escaped test subjects.

A whirlwind of steel and wood, the axe came at #1. Ducking low, he caught the handle and threw it in return. Nimbly, #2 dodged out of the way, and the axe became embedded in the wooden desk. #2 grabbed the shaft with both hands and it snapped in half. Shrieking in anger, #2 threw the useless handle away and it crashed onto a complex array of glass tubes and bubbling beakers, smashing dozens of containers. Some of the fluids splashed onto the glowing pipe and burst into flames. A tiny portion of #1's brain gibbered in raw fear of their ancient enemy, but he forced it quiet. Battle!

Over by the supply cabinet, #3 had wrenched open the door and was rummaging about, obviously searching for something. But what? #1 knew the serum was not kept in there. It had to be refrigerated. What was he going after? Of course, the trank gun!

Grinning in triumph, #3 pulled into view the tranquilizer pistol. Working the breech, he thumbed in a feathered dart. Snapping the breech closed, the smug male clicked off the safety.

This was trouble. Even in this enhanced state, #1 did not know if he could out maneuver the nasty biting dart of sleep. Taking a desperate gamble, #1 dove off his perch and landed with his full weight upon a hanging light fixture. Slight as his new body was, certainly no more than 250 pounds, the added strain ripped the array of fluorescence tubes from the concrete ceiling. In a burst of sparks, he hurtled downward to crash directly upon #3, the brutal impact driving the shrieking male to the ground. A spray of glass from the shattered light tubes ricocheted off the wall and a piece stung #1 on the cheek.

Rolling off the wreckage, #1 scampered under a workbench. But #3 stayed under the twisted metal, screaming-screaming, as the countless slashes over his body poured forth blood. #1 could not understand. Why did this male not heal like himself? Was there something in floor-s-scent lights that caused his wounds to remain open? He touched his cheek and the fingers came away bloody. What a stroke of luck!

Crimson pooled around the sluggishly twitching body, and the moaning of #3 began to weaken. If there was time, #1 would have gladly stayed to rip out the throat of his fallen enemy, but #2 was pounding on the door trying to get out, and he had to give chase.

Ignited by the sparks, flames followed the trail of spilled chemicals across the room to the workbench, igniting the massed collection of bubbling retorts. Vials cracked and beakers exploded spewing the blaze everywhere, fire racing along a trickle of clear fluid rapidly extending towards the door to the Supply Room.

Screaming in rage and fear, #2 yanked the steel handle off the exit jamming it closed permanently. Out of control, the humanoid smashed his fist into the door denting the metal. Sucking his bruised knuckles, #2 spun about and #1 was upon him!

Locked in mortal combat, the two rolled about in the debris, biting, clawing and kicking. Foreheads butted into jaws as teeth sought throats. Fingernails gouged flesh, leaving only shallow furrows, but the damage was minimal. They were too equally matched, and each knew the fight could last forever! Suddenly remembering the dent in the door made by the closed hand of the other male, #1 risked everything and jerked away from his opponent to slam a closed fist directly into the chest of his opponent.

Going stiff, the face of #2 contorted in a silent scream.