Blood Bound

By Shannon Patch

Metis Murrow is dead - legally speaking. In reality, she's spent her entire life in hiding. Her mothers say it's for her own protection, but she can't shake the feeling that there is more going on.... And she's right.

Due to an exploding human population, political unrest, and perhaps something more sinister, disease is running rampant in the United States. But in 2024, a baby was born with a mysterious enzyme in her blood. Thirteen years later, scientists discover the "Apex Enzyme" attacks viruses, disease, and even cancer cells, rendering patients healthy within days. From that point forward, Promethia Radcliffe's blood, body, and life belong to the U.S. government - and more directly, The Center for Biomedical Research. Forced to live away from her family, friends, and much of the outside world, she endures excruciating harvesting of her blood - The Contribution - so others can survive.

But not every sick person is receiving treatment. Millions are sick and dying, while the rich and well-connected thrive, healthier and more beautiful than ever. Until one day, a rouge group of the sick decide to take action. A resistance is rising....

After escaping the Center late one night, Promethia finds herself once again in the middle of a situation she can’t control, caught in a web of lies and a political cover up that may lead right to the Oval Office. But she also finds an opportunity to truly save the world, and within herself, she finds a freedom she has never known.Blood Bound speaks to readers who respond to strong characters and female bonds, and are intrigued by the corruption and drama that plagues our government.

Fans of books such as Hunger Games by Suzanne Collins and Parasite by Mira Grant will enjoy Promethia’s moral struggle and a suspenseful peek into the worst parts of the political process.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shannon Patch
• Release date: Dec 10, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005123475

Book preview

Part 2

Chapter 1

Happy hour tonight! Promethia sang to Syka on Friday afternoon. They had just arrived back at the residence, her living quarters in The Center for Biomedical Research.

Het bodyguard’s eyes widened and darted, for a split second, to the journal, sitting on Promethia’s dresser, now empty of its contents after the visit from Deus. Are you sure? You’re Contributing tomorrow.

I feel fine! she said, smiling big. They still only took half today, she said quietly, unsure if there was some miscommunication between Deus and the nursing staff. So let’s go.

Alright. But I’ve got orders to bring you down to Contribution by 7:00 a.m.

Yeah, yeah, she replied. The hangers in her closet tapped against one another as she rifled through, looking for an outfit.

That means you need to be up and moving no later than 6:30, he continued, which means…. He stopped.

She looked at him, smiled, and began to pull off her sweatshirt, a surefire way to get Syka out of the room.

We’ll start the sweep, he said quickly, then turned on his heel raising his BodyTech bracelet to his face.



An hour and a half later, Promethia greeted Amanda, who was already at their favorite bar, a hole-in-the-wall pizza place next to a bowling alley. After hugging Promethia – and Syka, despite his protestation – Amanda feigned looking around. "You know, I never noticed how young it is in here."

Young? Promethia said, distracted, taking a big gulp of the cocktail Amanda had waiting.

No really, it’s like you could meet a 22-year-old in here or something…

Promethia rolled her eyes and cringed, recalling New Year’s Eve, a few days earlier. Mean! she said and playfully punched her friend. "You’re just mean!" Promethia glanced at Syka who was smirking ever-so-slightly. It was not one of my best moments, she conceded.

It’s fine, Amanda said waving a hand. Who cares. It was a fun night. Amanda always did that, excused whatever ridiculous or terrible thing Promethia had done. Oh my God, wait until I tell you about this intern. Amanda also knew when to change the subject. She ordered a beer, and then launched into a story about an intern putting coffee grounds in the water receptacle, breaking her beloved coffee maker. The future is bleak if we’ve come to the point where interns can’t make coffee correctly.

Around 9:00, Amanda announced that she had leave. I have a story to write, she said, putting on her coat. And by that I mean I have to go home and write some shit I hate.

Promethia nodded at this half-truth. Amanda loved little more than spending a Friday night writing. But as an affiliate writer for BodyTech News, she wrote a lot of shit she hated.

She also wrote a lot of half-truths, and she downplayed her career to her best friend who would never have one.

Love you, she said, pecking Promethia on the cheek as they hugged outside the bar. Bye, Syke.

Syka opened the car door for Promethia and she stumbled in. It was early, but she was ready to leave, too. Her head was spinning and she was nauseous from either the vodka or Contributing. Maybe both.

You need to eat, Syka said, starting the car.

Her stomach turned at the thought, but she knew he was right.

What do you want? he asked as the car sped along.

She didn’t respond. Her stomach roiled. She shut her eyes and put her head back against the seat. She was clammy and her mouth tasted like wet salt. Syka looked back at her worriedly. He rolled down the window and commanded the autonomous car to slow down. The breeze felt nice, but her stomach continued to churn. Pull over, she gurgled.

He looked back at her. You know I can’t do that.

"Syka, please."

Syka took a breath and touched the emergency manual response, taking control of the car, and slammed on the breaks. Before he could tell her not to, Promethia opened the door, leaned out and threw up.

Syka jumped from the front seat and ran around the open door, putting his body in front of Promethia. Masked pedestriansaround the conspicuous black car immediately took notice.

It’s Promethia! someone yelled.

Syka pushed her hair out of her face. Shh, shh, it’s okay, he whispered, as she gagged and cried and tried to apologize. We have to get you back in the car. This isn’t— you’re vulnerable. Vomit dotted his black shoes. She turned her head to the right, back at the second vehicle – there were always two, and she never knew why. Two suited agents jumped out now and pushed back the gathering crowd around Promethia and Syka.

What are you doing, Jones? one of the agents hissed. You’re going to get us all fired.

Promethia looked up. People were calling her name. She heard the distinctive click of someone snapping a photo on their BodyTech. Syka spun around. Are you kidding me? he roared.

The other agent pulled his gun and trained it on a twenty-something in a jarring mask with a wide clown smile printed across. A collective gasp went through the crowd. A few people broke away and ran, and one woman shrieked.

Promethia hid her face and wiped her mouth, her throat burning. She scrambled backwards into the car.

"I just want to talk to her!" the kid yelled back, oddly not afraid. I just want to talk to her. Let me talk to her. I can’t get Apex, and I just -

The agent cocked his gun. Promethia peered out the open door, over Syka’s formidable shoulders. She couldn’t see the young man who tried to take her photo, but she could hear him stammering. He just wanted to talk? What was wrong with that?

Syka reached forward plucked the man’s bracelet off his wrist like a rubber band. He threw it on the ground and stomped the BodyTech into a pile of plastic and metal. The man stood there, stunned. I… I… he stuttered. "You’ll pay for this! She’ll pay for this," he yelled. Syka slammed the door closed and walked around to the driver’s side.

Behind the darkened window, Promethia examined the young man. Thin, impossibly thin… his hair stringy, his eyes clouded with illness. The woman next to him put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed lovingly. She was completely bald, behind her own thick mask.

The vehicle lurched and sped away. She wondered if The Center would replace his BodyTech.

Syka seethed as Promethia composed herself in the backseat. She could feel his rage, electrifying the vehicle. But after a long moment, he finally said: I’m sorry, Promethia.

She met his eyes in the rear view mirror. "For what?" she asked, incredulous. Syka had been protecting her, as always. He did his job. She shook her head, dismissing the apology. There were so many people…. Are there always that many people out at this hour? Syka didn’t answer. Why did agent Smith draw his gun? That was nuts. I’m going to report that. That’s completely inapprop—

Enough, Promethia, Syka said. It wasn’t harsh, but it was final. She stopped talking.

When they got back to the compound, he helped her out of the car and to the door. Harrah met them, bringing Promethia into the dining room where food was waiting. Syka sat down in his chair in the living room. It was her chair, of course, but Syka was the only one who ever sat there, reading his books while she slept or ate or watched TV. But he didn’t pick up his book.



Thirty minutes later, there was a knock at the door. Harrah answered, only to be pushed aside roughly by two agents Promethia had never seen before. They didn’t look at her.

Agent Jones, the male officer said to Syka. You are hereby suspended without pay until further notice. Agent Peska will finish the duration of your shift.

What the fuck? Promethia said, dropping a half-eaten piece of toast as she moved clumsily towards the living room. A third agent, a tall woman with dark hair stopped her.

We’re handling this, Ms. Radcliffe, she said. I’m going to have to ask you to step into the kitchen.

Handling what? she tried to see past the woman as she pushed Promethia towards the kitchen.

She heard Syka protesting: "She was sick, I couldn’t just—"

You didn’t follow protocol.

I was trying to—

You’ll have a union hearing in a few weeks.

Weeks? I have kids—

You didn’t follow protocol, the agent repeated, more forcefully now. The asset was in danger when you made an unscheduled stop on Hodge Street.

"She asked me to. Don’t we work for her?" Syka asked.

Indeed. That area was not cleared.

There was a long pause.

Cleared? Promethia thought, remembering the crowd, and a conversation with Syka in the elevator earlier in the day.

Let’s go, Jones.

I need my stuff, she heard Syka say, his voice high.

The agents started towards the door, and Syka rushed into the kitchen. He opened the refrigerator door and bent down. She couldn’t see his face.

They can’t fire you, she said, trying to see around the agent who now stood between them. They won’t fire you, right?

Shh, he said, making a show of rummaging around for a non-existent lunch bag. It doesn’t matter. He spoke with an urgency Promethia had only heard a few times, when she was truly in danger. It’s not what you think it is, Promethia.

She could barely hear him. What isn’t? she asked, her voice like a mouse.

They control everything. They see everything. And they control everything you see.

Jones, the female agent said. That’s quite enough.

Who, Syka? What are you trying to tell me? Promethia asked.

They don’t want you to see how many people are sick. The sweeps are –

Agent Jones! the woman interjected. We need to get him out of here, she called to the other agents.

Syka stood up straight now, and turned to face her. Two agents burst into the kitchen, each taking an arm on this goliath of a man who had stood between her and so many dangerous situations. "They’re giving it to the wrong people. You need to fight back. You need to do something."

It took both agents to pull Syka backwards through the kitchen door. In the same instant, the female agent pushed Promethia towards the pantry, which served as an emergency safe room.

But Promethia did not feel safe.

We’re handling this, Ms. Radcliffe, she said as she had moments before. She turned the lock over with a loud click.

The female officer stood in front of the door, staring straight ahead. This is bullshit, Promethia said, pacing. You know this is bullshit. She didn’t remember ever working with this agent before, but hoped she could talk to her woman to woman.

He is no longer needed on your service.

"Jesus Christ, he was trying to help me. He’s my— he’s my friend. He’s the only one I—"

Now the officer spun around and locked her ice blue eyes on Promethia. "He is not your friend. He didn’t follow protocol, and from what I’ve heard, he hasn’t been following protocol for quite some time. He is no longer needed on your service."

Is what he said true? The question hung in the air.

The agent’s eyes darted to the left for a split second, but Promethia would remember the glance forever. Ridiculous, the agent replied.

So you don’t know? Promethia challenged.

The woman’s mouth tightened. I know what I need to know, and so do you, she replied.

"You work for me."

"I work for The Center. And for the American People. And so do you," the woman replied.

A loud thud came from the living room, shaking the floor and halting the conversation. Promethia’s eyes widened. What – what the fuck is going on out there?

The agent didn’t respond. The conversation was over.

Promethia sat down on the floor, her head in her hands.



She slept fitfully, haunted. She dreamed of Syka, and of a baby.

She dreamed she was standing in the living room, alone, staring at a faded spot on the otherwise pristine white carpet. She got down on her hands and knees to examine the stain, rubbing it with her hand. The carpet was rough under her fingertips as she rubbed, trying to will away a memory. But as she rubbed, the stain became ever more pronounced – redder, then wet, then soaking. Blood poured from the spot in the carpet, covering her hands and knees and feet, then her calves, and her waist. She stood. She tried to run or scream, but she was glued to the spot, blood filling the room. Hot, rushing in now from the walls and the ceiling and the windows, she was trapped. Trapped in the sticky, slick wet fire of blood.

Syka’s head bobbed past her, just above the surface. He was swimming in it, struggling against the current, trying to grasp a baby just out of his reach. She looked down at herself, standing, unmoved by the crashing waves of blood.

She looked up as the baby floated by again, but now Syka was nowhere in sight.

Now she was standing on his shoulders, drowning him, pushing him deeper and deeper into the sea of blood as the baby screamed….

She woke with a start, covered in sweat. She sat up in bed, alone in her room. An agent was outside the door, she knew, but it wasn’t Syka. It would never again be Syka.

She hugged herself and tried to keep from crying.

She and Syka weren’t always friends. In the beginning, his absence would have been quite welcome.

But one day, six months into the job, he was late for a shift. Really late. Like two hours. The agent on duty clocked out – her protection more of an notion than an absolute necessity at that time – and Promethia waited in her room, ready to brow beat Syka for the infraction.

But when he finally arrived, flustered, he apologized profusely.

It’s ok, it’s ok, Promethia told him, unnerved as he paced around the room apologizing. Sit down, she commanded, and for once, he obeyed. Are you okay? she asked.

He looked up at her, his eyes speaking.

What? she asked, alarmed. What happened?

We— we lost the baby, he said, before he could stop himself.

Promethia hadn’t even known his wife was pregnant. Promethia had never thought about Syka’s wife or family before that moment.

I forgot I was supposed to be… I’m sorry I’m late.

Promethia was young then – maybe 15. She had a million questions, but she didn’t ask them. Instead, she gave Syka exactly what she knew instinctively he needed: silence. The two, each of them suffering a loss of a potential future, sat in silence for the rest of the day.

Syka was quiet, an imposing figure who somehow went unnoticed when he needed to, and sometimes when he didn’t. Syka could remain so still, so silent, that Promethia routinely forgot he was in the room.

But Syka noticed everything.

He never expressed his gratitude for her kindness that day, his devotion to her protection. Instead, he was unfaltering in his loyalty. Instead of thanks, he gave her books.

Instead of being a coward, he told her the truth.

At 2 a.m., she peeked out the door and saw Peska dozing in a chair at the end of the hallway. She shut the door carefully and took a deep breath.

She slipped off her BodyTech bracelet, and tucked Senator Michael Archer’s business card in her jeans pocket. She would not be gone for more than an hour. After today, she couldn’t risk it.

And she couldn’t risk staying put.

She didn’t know what she’d say to the Senator, but he gave her that article… the crazy conspiracy theory article, which Syka had just confirmed for her. Syka, who was as close to this as she. Syka who saw everything.

Syka who was now gone.

She didn’t know what she needed, but she knew she needed help.



The bartender looked at her like she was insane. Hours earlier, she had walked in with a cadre of security who swept the place for bombs, guns, and – as she now knew – people.

Every so often someone coughed, a loud, hacking sound.

I need your phone, she told the bartender.

He glanced at her bare wrist, and maskless face, then handed the wall phone to her, still stunned.

She touched each number on the pad and prayed he’d pick up.

This is Michael, a voice said after four rings.

It’s Promethia Radcliffe, she said.

A pause. Promethia, he said warmly. Good to hear from you. How are you?

She didn’t know where to begin. I’m… something happened, and I— I think something’s going on at The Center? I… think I need your help.

There was a long pause. I’ll help however I can. What’s up?

That article, she said. Do you know if—

He cut her off What article? Something online today?

No, the one you gave me—

He laughed cutting her off again. I think you must be mistaken, he said quickly. But listen, I am so glad you called. I am going to be in Buffalo on Monday, before coming back to D.C. for votes. Maybe I could stop by? I haven’t been to the Center for a tour in forever. And I am sure we have plenty to discuss. Another pause. In person.

Oh, um, okay, yes… in person, she heard herself reply. She felt the bartender’s eyes on her.

Great. I’ll have Joe call your press team and we’ll set it up. Thanks, Promethia. I am looking forward to it.

And that was it. The line went dead. She handed the phone back.

Vodka water? he asked, remembering her drink from earlier.

I need to get back, Promethia replied, distracted. Had she said enough? Too much? Maybe he could help her on Monday….

Oh come on, the bartender said, presenting a glass. On me. You look like you really need it.

Well that was for sure.

She took a big sip. He was kind of cute. She smiled. He smiled back.

And that was the last thing she remembered.



Her eyes shot open hours later, and her skin felt like ice. Nausea hit her immediately. She shut her eyes tight, instinctively afraid. Something was not right. Something was missing.

She turned her head to the right and saw a needle, connected to a long tube, which was connected to an outdated centrifuge, whirring frantically. Slowly, she turned her head to the left. There was no line into her left arm.

Panicking, and in pain, she peered around the room. A woman with piercings and the side of her head shaved looked on from the foot of the bed. The bartender was standing behind her.

Promethia sucked in her breath. You can’t just… She couldn’t manage the words.

The woman came around the side of the bed. We need it, she said, wringing her hands, seemingly afraid to touch Promethia. We need it, too…

Promethia howled now, arching her back in agony.

A young girl with a cascade of blonde hair burst into the room, followed by a tall, slender woman about her own age. The girl’s wild blue eyes landed on Promethia, scanned her up and down. There’s no line back in? she asked, finally.

In... Promethia managed to repeat feebly.

Yeah, we’ll put it back in, after we get the enzyme, the pierced woman said, her voice edged with frustration, and fear.

No you have to put it back in NOW. The blonde girl sprung into action. The pain, the nausea, the blistering cold of her own skin, took control of Promethia’s nervous system, and she lost consciousness, just as Metis Murrow pricked the delicate skin of Promethia’s left arm.

Chapter 2

"Welcome to BodyTechNews, today is day three of the search for Promethia Radcliffe, and today The Center for Biomedical Research in Buffalo, NY announced there is no more Apex enzyme treatment for cancer or any other illnesses. Since the announcement this morning, twenty two people have been reported dead, and countless others fear a similar fate. Department of Health officials are looking into why backup reserves were depleted so quickly.

"As of this new hour, Deus Trunk of the Center for Biomedical Research has declined to comment. Patients in the midst of treatment at centers across the nation this morning were turned away at the door, and those awaiting treatment were issued delay notices. All were referred to local hospitals for PillTech chemotherapy and pharmaceutical care until further notice.

We now go live to Washington D.C. where a bipartisan group of Senators is discussing the shortage.

Thank you all for being here today, Senator Charlotte Murrow began. She took a breath. I know we are all eager to discuss the Apex shortage, but I’d like to take a moment to reflect and pray for Promethia Radcliffe and her family. I can only imagine the fear and anxiety her mother is experiencing right now. I can only imagine the pain and uncertainty. Please know that your country stands with you at this harrowing time.

But she did know. The fear, the sorrow… the guilt. She’d just received a call from her own daughter’s caregivers, and in this moment, she knew fear all too well. The tears in the Senator’s eyes were real.

 And to whoever knows where our dear Promethia is right now, rest assured, we will find you, and you will be punished to the full extent of the law She paused again, looking up, into the black eyes of the news cameras, blasting her words and face out to millions of citizens, all rapt – much like the reporters who stood before her – by their BodyTech bracelets, wearable technology that brought the world to their fingertips. But of course that wasn’t all BodyTech could do, she thought as she touched her naked wrist.

I do have some remarks, she said, but I’d like to allow Senator Archer from New York to say a few words first. Mike?

Senator Michael Archer edged his way to the podium, Hello everyone, Senator, thank you for your leadership, and for bringing us together at such a crucial time in our nation’s history. My colleague and I are not always on the same page, he smiled. "But today, the Senator from New Hampshire and I stand together to call for bipartisan support of the The Center for Biomedical Research and of Apex research dollars. Since Promethia Radcliffe went missing three days ago, a light has been shed on a serious and systemic gap in our healthcare system. And today, in the midst of a national, crisis-level shortage of Apex, we have learned just how important Promethia is to our country’s health and safety.

Today, there are millions of people who cannot get access to the treatment they need, and the treatment they have been promised, he paused, took a deep breath, and glanced at his Chief of Staff. "But the truth is, every day there are people who need the Apex enzyme who can’t get it because they score too low. Each reporters’ head shot up, suddenly aware something big was about to happen. These are good, middle-class, working folks. These are children, mothers and fathers, the poor. Some suffer from serious diseases like cancer, lymphoma, and leukemia. Others are at risk of dying from the common cold and flu."

The reporters fluttered, confused. Was the Senator from New York about