Chapter 4 - DARKNESS ON FLOOR 54The emergency LED strips along the baseboards kicked in, casting a pale, sickly amber glow across the minimalist furniture. Outside, the Chicago skyline was swallowed by the rolling black belly of the storm, lightning splitting the sky in jagged, silent white flashes.
"Stay behind the center island," Andrew ordered, his voice commanding absolute obedience as he moved with practiced, silent strides toward the private elevator foyer.
Ethan didn't move toward the kitchen island. Instead, he set his mug down on the glass coffee table with a soft clink, walked over to the edge of the hallway, and picked up a heavy, solid-brass decorative paperweight shaped like a vintage locomotive.
"They're coming up the service shaft," Ethan said, his voice unnervingly calm, almost robotic. "The override code the guards used on the lobby terminal... it only works if they have a Level 3 security pass. My file officer had one. Her name was Dr. Hayes. She sold us out three weeks ago."
Andrew paused, glancing back at the boy over his shoulder. "How do you know that?"
"I heard her talking on the phone in the dispensary," Ethan replied, his fingers stroking the cold brass of the paperweight. "She said fifty thousand dollars was enough to forget a name. My name was Subject 04. But I like Ethan better. Ethan was a boy who liked baseball. Subject 04 didn't like anything."
The heavy steel doors of the private elevator shuddered.
Thump.
A muffled, hydraulic hiss echoed through the shaft. Someone was overriding the manual locks from the mechanical deck on floor fifty-three, bypassing Andrew’s multimillion-dollar biometric security system with military-grade decryption hardware.
Andrew raised the Sig Sauer, aligning the tritium sights with the seam of the elevator doors. His heart, dead for fifteen months, was now hammering against his ribs like a trapped animal. Not out of fear for himself—he had courted bankruptcy, corporate betrayal, and public ruin without batting an eye—but because of the small, fragile presence standing ten feet behind him.
Ding.
The elevator bell chimed softly, a cheerful, absurd sound in the middle of a slaughterhouse.
The doors slid open.
Standing in the amber-lit cage weren't security guards in uniform. There were three men dressed head-to-toe in matte-black tactical gear, their faces hidden behind reinforced ceramic helmets with integrated night-vision goggles glowing a faint, eerie green. In their hands were suppressed MP5 submachine guns, held at a low-ready position with lethal, professional efficiency.
The lead operator stepped out into the penthouse foyer, his tactical boot crushing a stray piece of decorative glass. He stopped, his weapon swinging smoothly toward Andrew.
"Mr. Whitman," a voice distorted by a throat-mic rasped through the gloom. "Step away from the asset. This is a private corporate retrieval under Section 12 of the National Bio-Security Act."
Andrew didn't lower his gun. His finger rested lightly on the trigger guard, his breathing slow and measured, the muscle in his jaw ticking. "Section 12 expired five years ago, asshole. Drop your weapons or you won't make it back to the elevator."
The operator let out a cold, mechanical laugh. "You think your money protects you here, Andrew? BioGenix owns this city's police, its courts, and its morgues. Hand over the boy, or we burn this glass cage to the ground with everyone inside."
Before Andrew could pull the trigger, a blinding flash of lightning split the sky outside, illuminating the entire penthouse in a searing white glare—and from behind Andrew, a voice rang out, sharp and crystal clear.
May you like
"He's lying," Ethan shouted, stepping out from the shadow of the hallway. "The override code they used... I just broadcasted it to every federal server in Washington. If we die in the next three minutes, their whole lab burns with us."
The lead operator's head snapped toward the boy, his glowing green goggles locking onto Ethan with murderous intent. "Kill them both!"
