Ray led the way down, flashlight steady. Boyle followed nervously, one hand brushing the wall for balance. Jake came last, his gun drawn, every creak of the steps making his heart pound harder.
At the bottom, the door was reinforced metal. A keypad blinked faint red beside it.
Jake's whisper was tight. "Okay, so, anyone got the code? Or should we just… politely knock and say NYPD trick-or-treat?"
Ray pulled a small device from the pouch, clipped it onto the keypad, and let it cycle through combinations. Within seconds the lock disengaged with a muted beep. He pushed the door open.
[The Basement]
The air was colder, heavier. The smell that hit first was rotten blood, like something had been left to decay. The room stretched wide, its ceiling low, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above.
Tables lined the walls. Surgical tools gleamed under the harsh light. Some were clean. Others weren't. Symbols were etched into the concrete floor in chalk and ash.
And against the far wall were six cages.
Jake froze, his throat tightening. Two were empty. The other four cages were occupied. Children. Curled up, trembling, wide-eyed as the door creaked open.
Boyle's voice cracked. "Oh my god."
Ray lifted a finger for silence. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, eyes scanning every corner. No sound of movement or cameras. Just the faint hum of the generator and the quiet sobs of the children.
Jake's instincts screamed to rush forward, but Ray shot him a look so sharp he stopped in place. Ray moved to the first occupied cage, crouched low, and whispered. "We're here to get you out. Stay quiet."
The child nodded through tears.
Ray pulled a set of tiny cutters from his pouch and worked the lock. It snapped after a few tense seconds. He eased the door open and motioned for the kids to stay inside until the others were free.
Jake hovered near another cage, his hands shaking as he tried to work the lock with his multitool. Boyle crouched beside him, whispering encouragement even though his own hands were trembling.
Ray freed three cages quickly. Jake finally managed one, nearly dropping the lock when it gave way.
The children clung to each other, their eyes darting toward the far shadows of the room.
And then a sound broke the silence.
A scrape of metal against concrete.
Ray spun, flashlight slicing across the room. In the corner, a door they hadn't noticed before was slowly opening. Figures emerged. Three of them, in white coats, and their faces hidden behind surgical masks. But their eyes… cold, predatory, fixed on the intruders.
Jake whispered, "Please tell me those aren't the Masons."
Ray's reply was a grim whisper. "They are."
The siblings stepped fully into the room, each holding a tool that had no place in medicine: a bone saw, a scalpel, a mallet.
Linda tilted her head, voice muffled behind the mask but dripping with delight. "You're too late. The offering has already begun."
Ray raised his gun, steady and unflinching. "Not tonight."
Boyle whispered frantically, "What do we do, Ray?"
Ray replied. "Protect the kids. I'll handle them."
The room tensed like a coiled spring.
Jake swallowed hard, gun shaking in his hands. "So… stealth plan's officially over, huh?"
Ray's eyes didn't leave the Masons. "Over."
The fluorescent lights buzzed louder. The children whimpered in their cages. And the first sibling took a step forward, blade gleaming under the sickly light.
Ray instantly raised his gun. "NYPD. Drop your weapons. Hands where I can see them, now."
Jake and Boyle lifted their guns almost in unison, flanking him. Jake's stance was too wide, Boyle's too tight, but their barrels stayed steady enough.
For a moment, the Masons stood frozen under the fluorescent lights. Then Lance chuckled low, a sound like gravel scraping metal.
Instead of dropping their weapons, the siblings slid their free hands down the fronts of their white coats and pulled them open.
The sight froze Jake's breath in his throat.
Strapped to each of their chests were crude bomb vests, wires tangled like veins, blinking lights embedded in blocks of explosives.
"Holy mother of Die Hard," Jake whispered. His gun shook a little. "They've got suicide vests. Actual, real, kaboom-suicide vests."
Boyle whimpered softly. "Oh no. Oh no no no no. This is way worse than the turtle clinic."
Linda tilted her head, her eyes glittering above the mask. "You shoot, we all burn. You, us, the children. A beautiful ending, isn't it?"
Ray didn't blink. "You won't do it."
Her smile widened under the cloth. "Won't I? Death is liberation. Death is the door to the light."
Lance Mason stepped forward, hefting his mallet like a priest holding a chalice. His voice was low and reverent. "We were chosen to usher them. The four little lambs will ascend, and we with them. You can't stop it."
Jake whispered sideways, his voice thin. "Uh, Ray? Pretty sure they're serious. Like, blow-us-all-to-bits serious. Maybe we should, I don't know, rethink the shooting plan?"
"Quiet," Ray said sharply, eyes never leaving the siblings.
This was a standoff, but not the kind Jake or Boyle were used to. Guns meant control. But bombs — bombs flipped the table.
Ray took a step forward, calm, calculated. His voice dropped into something colder, heavier. "You're bluffing."
Linda cocked her head, amused. "Am I?"
Ray replied while maintaining his calm. "Yes. Because you've waited years for this, haven't you? It won't work if you sacrifice them all together. Everyone knows that. You can only kill them two at a time on a full moon night for the ritual to be successful, and finally, the grand finale of sacrificing ten children before the world. Now, I doubt that you'd waste it by pressing a button early? No grand ceremony? No chant? Just a few bodies and a basement?"
Her eyes flickered, just for a heartbeat.
Lance's eyes narrowed as he removed his mask and asked, "How did you know that?"
Ray pressed the advantage, his voice firm, relentless. "You want an audience. You want fear, devotion, witnesses to your so-called ascension. But right now, it's just us. No crowd. No worshippers. No one to see you crowned in flame. Pull that trigger here, and it means nothing. A pathetic, empty death."
Jake swallowed hard, sweat rolling down his temple. He whispered to Boyle, "I think he's… trash-talking the bomb cultists?"
Boyle whispered back, "I think it's working."
Linda's chuckle cracked, strained at the edges. "You think you understand us?"
"I do," Ray said. "Because I've hunted people like you before. And they always make the same mistake. They want control. So, they always strap fake bombs and try to intimidate and bluff their way out."
He began to walk slowly toward them.
"I mean, for someone who values life so much that they kill kids believing they are gaining their life force and on a path to become immortal... I doubt that you three are going to blow this place up and die after coming this far. So, here's what we are going to do. Get on your knees and put your hands up. Surrender, and I promise to make sure your faces are on the front page of every newspaper and on TV. Don't you people want to become famous and go down in the pages of history as the Illuminati?"
Ray stopped a few steps away from them.
His eyes went toward the door behind them. Morgan and Gideon entered slowly, with their guns raised. Ray lowered his gaze thrice. It's one of their warning sign. So, those two stopped.
"Or, you can resist, and I'll drop you, right here. No one will ever know what you three did. They will know you as a serial killers and kidnappers. Your beliefs, your sacrifices, your message... No one will ever get to know. You'll live in the minds of the victims and their families, but that's about it," Ray said as he tightened his grip on his gun.
Linda's eyes burned with fevered devotion. She stepped closer, bomb vest blinking with every breath. "You promise, stranger? That the world will hear of us? That our light will spread like fire?"
Ray didn't blink. "I promise." His voice was low, ironclad, not a single note of hesitation. "Every word. Every symbol. The world will see it all."
Behind him, Jake muttered under his breath, "Okay, he is one hundred percent lying, right?" Boyle whispered back, "If he's not, I'm moving to Canada."
Linda glanced at her brothers. They shared a look—hungry, desperate, believing. Then they lowered their weapons. One by one, their knees hit the concrete.
Ray's gun stayed locked on them. "Good. Hands behind your head."
The siblings obeyed, trembling not with fear but with exaltation, as if kneeling were part of the ritual.
Ray moved closer to check the bombs and just as he predicted, they were fakes.
"Fake bombs."
Morgan's voice finally cut through. "Don't move!" He and Gideon moved forward, weapons leveled. In a blur they had the siblings restrained, yanking the crude vests away. The cops rushed in too.
Jake let out a shaky laugh, his gun dropping to his side. "Cool cool cool. I think I just aged twenty years in five minutes."
Boyle slumped against a cage, relief washing his pale face. "I thought my heart was going to stop. Twice."
Ray didn't relax. He kept his weapon raised until the last cuff clicked shut. Only then did he exhale, slow and controlled.
The children whimpered, clutching each other. Gideon crouched low, voice soft, soothing. "You're safe now. We've got you."
And as the BAU began leading the kids out, Linda whispered through her mask, her eyes fixed only on Ray. "You're one of us. You know the truth. That's why you understood."
Ray didn't answer.
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[POWERSTONES AND REVIEWS PLS]
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[25 advance chs] [No double billing.]
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