24991120 | 0741

  Ward Epsilon IV | Shanghai Er Lang Sheng Medical Institute | United China

  31°18′37″ N

  121°31′27″ E

  The elevator descended past the last floor.

  Not down — past.

  The level indicator dashed out.

  Two broken red lines.

  Adam tilted his head up.

  Harbringer 03 subtly spread his feet.

  Zora and Gideon eyed each other for a heartbeat.

  The elevator kept descending.

  The Harbingers tensed.

  A roman numeral.

  IV.

  Adam looked at Vicki out of the corner of his eye.

  She stood beside him.

  Seemingly unconcerned.

  The other Harbingers watched him expectantly.

  “Where are you taking us?” Adam asked softly.

  “You have nothing to fear, my lords.” Vicki said, sensing their unease.

  “This level is restricted access,” she said quietly.

  “Clearance granted only by the grace of Her Eminence.”

  “We are Her Harbingers.” Zora said.

  “Yes, I am aware of your… anointment ritual.” She replied.

  Her lips curled.

  A cold smile.

  “Where are you taking us?” Zora demanded.

  “Zora,” Adam called out.

  Softly.

  Cautiously.

  “I had enough of her insolence, my lord.” Zora snapped.

  She reached for her mace.

  Gideon forestalled her.

  “Forgive my companion, Dr Shi.” Gideon said tactfully, “we meant no offense.”

  “The Lady Chainbreaker do not… relish tight spaces,” Adam continued.

  “Old scars, combat trauma, you understand.”

  Vicki offered a smile.

  Warmer.

  “I understand,” she said, “You are a long way from home, Lady Chainbreaker.”

  “It is not uncommon to experience…slight discomfort.”

  Harbinger 03 grunted.

  The doctor turned to him.

  “You don’t talk much, do you?”

  He shook his head slightly.

  “My brother does not speak much,” Adam said. “He tends to speak through action.”

  “No matter,” Vicki smiled, turning away from them.

  “Her Eminence chose the four of you for a reason.”

  The Harbingers exchanged looks.

  “We are here,” Vicki said.

  The elevator doors hissed open.

  The air here felt different.

  Warmer.

  Heavier.

  Humid.

  A pressure chamber.

  Sealed

  Self-contained.

  Adam and his Harbingers felt it immediately.

  The subtle tightening of their chest.

  The shortness of their breath.

  They approached a set of doors.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  Hazmat and viral symbols plastered upon the glass.

  Vicki touched her palm to the access panel.

  “Officially, these are the Isolation Suites,” She said.

  The doors opened.

  “Internally, we called them the Boiler.”

  The corridor beyond was narrow.

  Lined with individual cells set at regular intervals.

  Each cell identical.

  Each cell three feet in width, ten feet deep.

  Each marked only by a number and lit by soft amber light.

  The walls were dark.

  Matte composite designed to absorb sound.

  Footsteps vanished into nothing.

  No alarms.

  No monitors visible.

  Only silence, thick and deliberate.

  “These rooms are self-contained,” Vicki said as they walked.

  “Independent air filtration. Pressure isolation. Sound dampening.”

  Adam glanced at one of the doors as they passed.

  “Each subject endured the process alone.”

  The amber light pulsed slowly.

  “The results… varied.”

  Alive.

  “What process?” he asked.

  Vicki did not answer immediately.

  They stopped before a door near the corridor’s end.

  Inside, Adam could feel it.

  The low hum of machinery embedded deep within the walls.

  Cycling.

  Steadily, patiently.

  Heat radiated faintly through the floor, rising into his boots.

  “Here is where incubation occurs,” Vicki said. “Where the strains are allowed to blossom fully.”

  She turned to him.

  “The purest strain, the most compatible hosts.”

  The door slid open.

  Adam sucked in his breath involuntarily.

  He had fought in the Reclamation Crusades.

  He had beheld the ruins of Wastelands.

  He had seen people hacked, shot and burnt.

  But nothing had prepared him for this.

  He could hear their breathing.

  Ragged, wheezing, labored.

  He saw now the devastation of their flesh.

  His heartbeat quickened.

  Adrenaline.

  A low, persistent pressure.

  A flicker of cold perspiration.

  His muscles tightened reflexively, then relaxed.

  He closed his eyes.

  He opened them again.

  Beyond it lay a corridor identical to the one outside.

  Rows upon rows of cells.

  An underground honeycomb hive.

  Some were dark.

  Others glowed amber.

  More occupied than vacant.

  He could see movement.

  Subjects.

  Men and women isolated in their own chambers.

  Each reacting differently.

  Lost in a delirium.

  One paced slowly, hands clasped behind his back, sweat darkening his shirt.

  Another sat motionless on the edge of the bed.

  Eyes unfocused, lips moving soundlessly.

  A third convulsed briefly, then steadied, breathing ragged but controlled.

  The viral strain manifested differently in each chamber.

  One subject’s skin flushed deep red, heat radiating visibly.

  Another trembled violently, teeth chattering despite the warmth.

  A third knelt on the floor, head bowed, as if in prayer.

  A fourth lay in a pool of his own excrement.

  The staffers manning the gangway and corridors did not intervene.

  No voices spoke.

  No alarms were raised.

  They watched, recorded, took down notes.

  The bodies laid where they were.

  Adam’s jaw tightened.

  “You infected them,” he snarled.

  His voice steel now.

  “Yes,” Vicki replied unflinchingly.

  He turned toward her. “Where do they come from?”

  She did not look away. “Many places.”

  “You took them?” he rumbled softly, “by force?”

  A pause.

  “No,” Vicki said. “That would imply coercion.”

  “Then what?” Adam demanded.

  Vicki folded her hands.

  “They volunteered.”

  The word hung between them.

  Zora gasped.

  Gideon cursed.

  “Paid,” she continued. “Compensated beyond anything their previous lives could offer.”

  “Accommodation. Food. Human trials. Advanced gene-therapies. But I find money to be most persuasive.”

  “What use had they for silver?” Adam said.

  “They do not,” she replied, “their family will be well taken care of.”

  “Their children will go to school. A chance at education. The opportunity of a lifetime.”

  Adam stared at the figures behind the glass.

  “Did they know?” he asked.

  “They signed the paperwork,” Vicki said. “They knew the risks.”

  “And when they were asked to leave?”

  Vicki’s expression softened, just slightly.

  “They donated their body to science,” she said. “Their sacrifice will not be in vain.”

  Adam barked a laugh. “You dressed it up as faith.”

  “We dress it up as purpose,” Vicki corrected. “A cause they would die for, willingly.”

  He looked back through the glass.

  “This… this is wrong.” Adam said.

  “Were you so different, Harbinger?” Vicki replied, smiling.

  “Is there an end?” Adam asked.

  “We offered… an extension clause.” Vicki replied.

  A hiss of steel.

  Harbinger 03.

  Adam held up a hand.

  “We are done here. Give us what we came for.” Adam said, “Lady Poison.”

  Vicki said nothing.

  She mere smiled.

  24991120 | 0106

  Ship Hold IV | UNHCR Salvation of the Sea | Eastern Mediterranean Sea

  34°58′12″ N

  25°06′45″ E

  “Chief,” Boa called, “you might want to see this.”

  Cobra came over.

  Boa and Python stood before a door.

  The bulkhead had been welded shut.

  Viper traced the seams with his light.

  Thick, uneven lines of fused metal scarred the doorway, hastily applied.

  They sealed this place in a hurry.

  “Whatever was in there,” Boa said, “they didn’t want it getting out.”

  “Outbreak?” Python added.

  “Possible.” Cobra nodded.

  “What’s the play, chief?” Python said.

  “Cut it.”

  “You sure, chief?” What if it is airborne?” Python said.

  “What we sought may be in there,” Cobra said.

  “Scans?” Cobra turned to Viper.

  “Sweep indicates no signs of active toxic agents.” Viper replied, consulting his slate.

  “Full seal.” Cobra said as he pressed a button on his combat suit.

  His team mirrored his move.

  Their combat suits sealed up, spacesuit-grade.

  Viper fired up his cutting torch.

  The torch screamed briefly.

  The metal gave way.

  The door sagged inward, clanging softly as it fell.

  The air hit them immediately.

  Stale. Hot.

  Heavy with the residue of old filtration systems long expired.

  Fans still hummed somewhere in the walls, straining against clogged intakes.

  The corridor beyond mirrored the one they had seen above.

  Individual rooms lining both sides.

  Each sealed, each marked with faded numbers.

  Scratch marks marred the inside of several doors.

  Deep ones.

  “Sir, scan indicates no contamination,” Viper said softly.

  “If the strain was airborne-capable, it long burnt out.”

  Cobra nodded, then motioned. “Suits stay sealed, people.”

  They did not disengage their seal-suits.

  They moved room to room.

  Some chambers were empty.

  Beds stripped, lights dark.

  Others held remnants: discarded clothing.

  Dried sweat stains on sheets, personal effects left behind.

  Bodies.

  “What happened here?” Boa whispered.

  Python stopped at one laying at his door of his cell.

  He peered in.

  The room was intact.

  A bed, neatly made.

  The chair pushed in.

  The amber status light dark.

  No signs of struggle.

  No damage.

  The body lay by the door.

  Python’s stomach tightened.

  “They didn’t break out,” he said. “They were sealed in.”

  “This is not a cell. This is a tomb.” Viper said.

  Cobra came closer. “Not all the cells have bodies.”

  Boa’s eyes went to a clipboard hanging outside each cell.

  She strode towards one of them.

  “I don’t get it.” Python muttered.

  Cobra and Viper waited for him to continue.

  “They were breeding the virus, perfecting it right?”

  Boa reached for the hanging clipboard.

  “Your point?” Viper asked.

  “Hear me out, their advanced strain burnt out fast, right?” Python said.

  She flipped through the pages

  “That’s how virulent strains work,” Cobra replied, “the greater the infection, the quicker the burnout.”

  Boa’s eyes widened.

  “Yes,” Python agreed, “but every iteration is progress, learnings, lessons.”

  “Your point?” Viper asked.

  “Failure is part of the hypothesis.” Python stated, gesturing to the bodies, “why are they entombed?”

  Cobra and Viper caught on.

  “Why entomb progress?” he asked, “why burn the knowledge gleaned?”

  “Guys,” she called.

  They turned to face her.

  “I think we’ve been looking at this wrong.”