In a dimly lit room deep within the facility, Andrew sat across from Sam.
The light above them flickered at irregular intervals, casting unstable shadows across the walls. The silence between them was not comfortable—it was measured, deliberate.
Andrew finally spoke.
"Did you really have to provoke the FBI?"
Sam leaned back slightly in his chair, expression unreadable.
"It was necessary."
Andrew exhaled slowly. There was no surprise in his reaction, only exhaustion.
"You and your messy plans," he said quietly.
Sam's gaze didn't shift.
"In that light, Andrew," he replied, "I don't make plans. I take advantage of situations."
A faint pause settled between them.
Then Sam continued.
"And now the situation has shifted in our favor. The FBI is involved. Panic is spreading. That means control is easier than before."
Andrew's eyes narrowed slightly.
"And what exactly is the end goal of this 'advantage'?"
Sam's voice lowered.
"Extraction. We move the experiment vessel—Louis —out before containment arrives. Then we collapse the emergency escape routes. No interference. No witnesses. The subject stays within our control."
Andrew didn't respond immediately.
He understood what Sam meant.
Not chaos.
Containment.
Ownership.
Elsewhere, Aron and Rei were moving through the prison corridors at speed.
Every step echoed louder than the last as distant alarms began to integrate into the facility's rhythm.
Aron's breathing was uneven now. Not just from running—but from pressure building inside him.
His thoughts were fragmented, unstable.
A voice kept repeating in his mind.
What I did is right.
It's not wrong.
His lips moved slightly as the words escaped under his breath.
Rei glanced at him immediately.
"What are you muttering?"
Aron blinked once, as if pulled back.
"Nothing. Just—focus."
Rei studied him for a fraction longer, then nodded.
"Just take me somewhere safe first."
Aron gave a short nod.
"Yes."
They continued forward.
Left turn.
Then right.
Then another corridor.
The structure of the prison blurred into repetition—metal walls, dim lights, sealed doors.
Eventually they reached a CCTV control room.
The door was unlocked.
That alone felt wrong.
Aron hesitated for half a second.
Then pushed it open.
Inside, the room was filled with monitors—most of them flickering, some still showing live feeds of corridors and guard movement patterns.
No one was inside.
Rei entered immediately after him.
Aron closed the metal door behind them.
The lock clicked.
For the first time in several minutes, there was silence.
But it did not last.
Footsteps.
Slow at first.
Then multiplying.
Rei moved toward the monitor wall, scanning quickly.
"How much time do we have?" Aron asked.
Rei didn't look away from the screens.
"At least an hour," he replied. "Maybe more if they don't coordinate fast enough."
Aron nodded, but his grip tightened unconsciously.
One hour.
It didn't feel like enough.
It felt like nothing.
He stared at the door.
Please hold.
Just long enough.
On the opposite side of the facility, Luke and Canta were hiding inside the industrial kitchen.
Metal counters separated them from the open space. Steam still lingered in the air from earlier activity, though no staff remained.
Canta's breathing had slowed, but something was wrong.
His lips had taken on a faint bluish tint.
Luke noticed it but said nothing at first.
Canta's eyes remained fixed forward.
Then, barely audible, he whispered:
"Louis is here…"
Luke turned sharply.
"What?"
Canta didn't respond.
His gaze was distant.
"But… he's alive," Canta continued softly. "We can still get out."
Luke frowned.
None of this made sense.
Canta was not thinking clearly. His mind was fragmented—overloaded.
Luke tightened his fists.
There was nothing useful in the kitchen. No tools. No exit plan. Only steel, silence, and the growing certainty that they were trapped.
---
Then—
Footsteps.
Two guards entered the kitchen.
At first, their movement was measured. Controlled.
Then sharper. Listening.
Luke went still.
The air tightened around him as the guards paused near the entrance, scanning.
One of them tilted his head slightly.
Silence stretched too long.
Luke's thoughts snapped into focus.
If this turns, there's no second chance.
He glanced back.
Canta's jaw set.
The guards stepped forward.
A metal tray was nudged aside by a boot. It clanged harshly across the tiled floor.
The sound broke the balance.
Luke whispered we are acting
Luke moved first.
Without warning, he flicked a knife across the counter. It struck metal—clang—a sharp, deliberate echo that pulled both guards' attention instantly toward the far side of the room.
At the same time, canta scooped flour from a storage bin and threw it into the air.
It burst outward like a white fog, swallowing sightlines and breaking spatial clarity in seconds.
Visibility collapsed.
The guards reacted immediately, splitting their focus between sound and movement—exactly as intended.
Luke didn't wait.
He slipped from the shadowed edge of the counter, silent and precise, and closed distance on the nearest guard.
The man turned too late.
Luke's strike landed first—fast, controlled, and disabling—driving the guard off balance before he could fully register the threat.
Behind him, Canta kept the chaos alive.
Another knife hit metal again—clang—from a different angle.
A second false direction.
The remaining guard pivoted toward it, stepping into the flour cloud, blind to Luke's movement.
Luke adjusted instantly.
He moved through the haze and finished the opening cleanly, forcing the second guard into retreat before he could recover orientation.
The room was no longer structured—only fragments of motion inside white dust and echoing sound.
Outside, distant footsteps began to multiply.
Containment response accelerating.
Luke grabbed canta's arm once.
No words.
Just direction.
The window.
They moved together.
Luke went first through the opening, canta following immediately after, the last knife strike still ringing faintly behind them as another false sound pulled attention deeper into the kitchen's collapsing confusion.
They dropped outside.
Landed hard.
And ran.
Behind them, the kitchen dissolved into alarms, shouting, and converging boots—losing them inside noise and dust as the perimeter tightened too late.
---
Ten minutes had passed.
The pounding on the security room door hadn't stopped.
Fists.
Kicks.
Metal groaning under repeated impacts.
Rei sat against the wall, trying to ignore the noise.
"About an hour left before extraction," he muttered.
Aron remained near the control panel, watching the reinforced door shake.
A loud bang echoed.
Rei looked up.
"What should we do? Maybe we escape through the vents?"
Aron immediately shook his head.
"No. This is one of the safest rooms in the facility. If anything, we should seal the vents."
Another impact struck the door.
Then both of them froze.
A different sound emerged.
Not from the door.
From above.
Thump.
Thump.
Scrrrape.
Something was moving through the ventilation system.
Rei slowly looked upward.
Aron followed.
The sound grew louder.
Someone was crawling inside.
Silence filled the room as both men stared at the vent.
Thump.
Thump.
Closer.
Much closer.
Meanwhile, Luke and Canta ran through the dark hallways.
After escaping through the kitchen window, they had slipped behind the guards while they rushed into the flour-filled chaos.
Now they were lost.
The facility stretched endlessly around them.
Then suddenly—
Everything went black.
The lights died.
Complete darkness swallowed the corridor.
Luke instantly grabbed Canta's shirt.
"Don't get separated."
Neither could see a thing.
Only breathing.
Only darkness.
Canta's breaths came out unevenly, almost like someone struggling through an asthma attack.
They moved forward slowly.
Carefully.
No footsteps.
No voices.
Nothing.
Then Luke crashed into something.
Hard.
It wasn't a wall.
It moved.
A flashlight suddenly exploded into his face.
Luke's eyes widened.
Rabasa.
Before Luke could react, Rabasa grabbed him by the arm and hurled him into the wall.
"Agh!"
Luke slammed into the concrete.
The knife flew from his hand and skidded across the floor.
Canta immediately rushed toward it.
Rabasa didn't stop him.
He simply stared.
"Keeping you alive was a mistake."
His voice was cold.
"Look around. How many people are going to die now?"
He took a step forward.
"You."
Another step.
"That officer."
Another.
"Aron."
"Rei."
Canta's grip tightened around the knife.
No.
I can't keep thinking.
I have to fight.
Rabasa suddenly moved.
Fast.
Too fast.
Canta raised his head—
And all he could see was a fist rushing toward his face.
The impact landed like a hammer.
Canta was thrown backward, his feet leaving the ground.
Pain exploded through his body.
Yet somehow, his fingers never released the knife.
He crashed against the floor and slid several feet across the corridor.
At that exact instant, the facility lights flickered back on.
White light flooded the hallway.
Canta forced himself up slightly.
Blood dripped from his nose.
Fresh pain mixed with the countless cuts already scattered across his arms, shoulders, and face.
His vision blurred for a moment.
Then it focused.
Rabasa stood motionless.
In his hand was a steel rod.
The metal gleamed beneath the restored lights.
Canta's breathing grew heavier.
Blood continued to run from his nose and onto the floor.
Across from him, Rabasa simply stared.
No anger.
No hesitation.
Only certainty.
The knife remained clenched in Canta's hand.
Neither moved.
The corridor fell silent.
And then—