Clark raises a hand and motions for us to split up, then hold position at the doorways. There are small signs next to each door. I guess even sick, psychotic scientists need labels, too. The door I approach with another agent has ‘Auditory and Visual Research.’ We wait outside and lock eyes on our leader.
As soon as Clark gives us a signal, each set of agents turns the handle as quietly as possible, then kicks open the doors. I hear screams as soon as the knobs are turned and kicking them open only causes yelling and gunfire to join the chaos.
When our door slams open, I notice there are two scientists and one guard. The guard raises his gun as the door crashes in. But I'm quicker. He slumps to the floor as I hit my mark and I turn the gun on the scientists. They both put their hands up, one peeing their pants and eyes glued wide open as we approach them slowly.
“Hands on the wall!” I yell, and they comply, both appearing pale and shaky. Probably because they knew if they were ever caught, it wouldn’t be pretty. And I don't fucking intend to make it pretty for them, either. This is one trial that will be bursting at the seams with evidence and testimonies against them, from personal accounts to loads of witnesses and even visual evidence. This crime scene is teeming with DNA.
We have them cuffed before assessing the rest of the room. First, I motion for the agent to help the older man and teenage boy that are sitting at different tables. They both have some sort of headphones on and didn’t even flinch when the gunshots were fired, so drugged out they look like zombies.
Shaking my head in disgust, I lead the scientists to the hallway where they already have eight more lined up and I shove the two I escorted forward to join them. Several agents have their guns trained on the group, surrounding them.
They're trapped like lab rats... ironic.
“Any sign of the kid?” I ask the agents passing by. Of course, nobody can give me a fucking straight answer, and I'm growing more frustrated and slightly nervous. I send up a silent prayer that she's still alive.
As I turn around to head back to the auditory room, I see a figure approaching slowly from the stairwell. As soon as he sees me, he tries to turn his gun on me, but a gunshot rings out from next to me, bringing him down first. I turn, and Clark gives me a nod.
“No sign of her yet, Flynn. The dormitories are next. Any victims?” I hold up two fingers and walk back into the room. The agent is leading the two males toward the doorway as I enter. I get a better look at their small frames and sickly pale skin. The worst is the blood dripping from their eyes and the clouded over irises. We need to get these people medical attention, fast. I step out of the way and do a quick look around the room. The back wall has a few tables with computers and headphones. I assume for some sort of hearing test. The front half has different machines that you see in optometrist offices. On the final side are two chairs with built in straps to bind a person in place. Next to the chairs is a huge shelving unit and cabinet filled with needles, IV bags, and an array of other equipment. Knowing I need to keep moving, I let out an involuntary shudder and make my way back to check out the other rooms and victims.
The medical team is making their way into the first room in the hallway. I take a quick look into the other two rooms to give the medics a chance to work. The room next to the auditory is filled with exercise equipment, treadmills with machines next to them, and what looks like a boxing ring in the back. What the hell are these people testing? I walk back to check the sign and read ‘Muscular Degeneration and Development Research.’
The next sign reads ‘Disease Reversal Research.’ I try to convince myself not to even look, but I've come this far. This one looks like an infirmary. There are beds lining one wall with medical stations next to each for checking vitals. There's a door near the back that's labeled X-Ray. Next to the door is an ultrasound machine as well. I notice a few elderly men and women strapped to the beds where agents are trying to gather information. At this point everyone is grasping at straws to try and help them.
I make my way to find Clark, unable to stomach this any longer. I'm ready to check on the victims in the dormitories, now. The guards we shot earlier had keys that I pick up as we pass by. Hopefully one of the keys will be a dormitory skeleton key.
Moving on, I find Clark in the first room and almost vomit when I take a glance around. There's blood covering the floor and the chairs. There's a teen girl lying back on a gurney. The medical team is stitching wounds along her arms and legs. The only clothing she has on is underwear and a tank top. Clark notices me, probably due to my noise of disgust and outrage. I’m such an intense mix of horrified and angry that I don’t know how to process it.
“Let’s go check on the victims. Realistically those hallways are hardly big enough to maintain 634 people,” he says in a defeated tone. We see a lot on this job, but this is one of those cases I know will haunt me for the rest of my days. These sick assholes were conducting human experiments that were not only illegal, but extremely unsettling and I wanted to take each of them on a quick journey to the incinerator and purge their evil from the world.
We make our way back up the stairs while Clark sends a few agents downstairs to the final level. Clark motions me forward since I'm the one with the keys. In the first dormitory hall I try the keys, one by one, until I finally get the door open. The sight inside is just as awful as the rest of this place. The older woman inside is strapped to her bed. She looks extremely thin and frail. Her hair is matted, and she smells like she hasn’t been showered at all. A wheelchair rests near the door, I’m assuming as a means to transport her back and forth from the labs. She doesn’t even acknowledge us as we enter the room, but we step out quickly as more medics approach.
The rest of the hallway is a mix of frail to healthy looking adults. They're all elderly and an equal mix of men and women of all races. We leave each door open as we exit. Those who have the mental capacity to talk to us or look at us are reassured that help is on its way. Every single room leaves me shaken.
The next hallway tears my heart out. It's clearly the youth hall, with a terrified teenager inside each room. They're dirty and also range from healthy to tortured. Some have cuts similar to the victim in the lab downstairs, while others are frail, and more than I can count have damaged eyes or ears. Finally, we reach the last room in the hallway. I take a deep breath as I reach for the doorknob, knowing if she isn’t in here, then we failed.
Unknown
Unknown
Charlie
I wake up in a state of pure, raw agony. The pain in my head and abdomen are nearly unbearable. My eye is still swollen but open enough to see out of and I slowly lift my shirt with a shaky hand, but the fabric is stuck in the coagulated blood that covers me. I don’t want to rip it away and bleed out or cause more pain.
Glancing around, I notice I'm back in a cell again. The rooms are soundproof, so the only thing I can hear is my rapid breathing and whimpers. The lack of sound is so unsettling I know I'll go crazy if help doesn’t come soon. Though, with how I currently feel, it won’t matter if they get to me soon. I'm not going to make it long. The scientists are crazy and sadistic and I’m so weak after only one round I don’t see how I can survive more.
The lock clicks and the doorknob turns, making me flinch. It opens slowly and I let out a defeated bre
ath, knowing I can’t fight back this time. Refusing to look at them, I drop my head back on the pillow and stare at the ceiling. I'll be just as stony as I was before this happened.
When I hear footsteps crossing over to my bed, I glance over, expecting my guards or Timmins. Instead, it's Flynn and another detective. I let out a sob as I realize I'm finally in safe hands, every bit of my calm facade crumbling.
The look on Flynn’s face as he checks me over is one of pure horror and devastation. He tries to lift my shirt, but I whimper at the first tugs against the wounds. He pulls his hand back and addresses the other man.
“Call a medic, now." Flynn’s voice is barely above a whisper, but the agent turns and barks for a medic into his comm. Flynn eyes me with a sympathetic gaze. “I’m so sorry, kid. I tried to find you as fast as I could. We cleared this place out though. The scientists will give away names. This will end here,” he vows, and I give him a watery, shaky smile.
“You found me, that’s all that matters. I hurt so bad, old man. But the boss mentioned this isn’t the only place. Your fight isn’t over,” I manage to get out between sobs. It's a miracle he even understands me through my sobs and weak, raspy voice.
The detectives are ushered out as an EMT enters my room. He looks over my injuries but notices the shirt is sticking to me, so he stops. He doesn’t rip it up, which I'm thankful for.