Chapter 9 — THE DEAL
The black site was completely silent, a stark contrast to the chaos unfolding at the Naval Medical Center.
Ethan Mercer huddled in the corner of his freezing cell, his knees pulled up to his chest. His teeth chattered loudly in the quiet room. Every shadow seemed to stretch toward him; every distant drip of water sounded like a footstep.
He had warned Thomas. He had told them they were coming.
The lights in the cell suddenly flickered.
Then, they went completely dark.
Ethan scrambled backward until his back hit the cold concrete wall. "Guard?" he croaked, his voice cracking. "Hey! The lights went out!"
No response.
A moment later, the heavy mechanical lock on his cell door disengaged with a soft click. It wasn't the loud clang from earlier. It was precise. Silent.
The door creaked open.
A figure stepped into the pitch-black cell. The only illumination came from the dim red emergency light down the corridor. The intruder was dressed in full black tactical gear, a night-vision apparatus pulled down over their eyes. In their right hand, they held a combat knife, the blade painted matte black to prevent reflections.
"You talk too much, Ethan," a synthesized, mechanical voice whispered from the darkness.
Ethan screamed, throwing his hands up to protect his face. "No! No, please! I didn't tell them anything! I swear!"
The assassin lunged, the knife slicing violently through the air.
Ethan threw himself to the left, the blade grazing his shoulder, tearing through the orange fabric and slicing his skin. He cried out in agony, rolling across the cold floor, his chains rattling loudly.
"The Architect sends his regards," the assassin whispered, stepping closer, raising the blade for a fatal downward strike to Ethan's chest.
Suddenly, the corridor flooded with blinding white light.
"DROP THE WEAPON!"
Two heavily armed military police officers appeared in the doorway, their assault rifles raised, lasers locked squarely on the assassin's chest.
The assassin hesitated for a fraction of a second, weighing the odds. Realizing escape was impossible, the intruder raised the knife—not to throw it, but to drive it into their own neck to avoid capture.
CRACK!
An MP fired a single rubber kinetic slug, striking the assassin in the wrist. The knife clattered to the concrete. The second officer rushed in, slamming the butt of his rifle into the intruder's helmet, dropping them to the ground instantly.
Ethan lay on the floor, clutching his bleeding shoulder, weeping openly.
A few moments later, Admiral Thomas Hale walked into the cell, looking completely unfazed by the blood or the unconscious assassin on the floor. He stepped over the intruder and looked down at his son-in-law.
"It seems you were right, Ethan," Thomas said calmly. "Your friends don't like loose ends. And you are a very loose end."
Ethan sobbed, crawling toward Thomas’s polished shoes. "Save me. Please, Thomas. You have to protect me. I'll tell you everything. I'll give you their names, their accounts, the drop points. Everything! Just don't let them kill me!"
Thomas looked down at the pathetic man who had terrorized his daughter. He felt no pity, only a cold, calculated satisfaction.
"You are going to testify against the Architect," Thomas said, his voice echoing in the cell. "You are going to give up every single contact in the Obsidian Group. And in exchange, I will ensure you survive long enough to spend the rest of your miserable life in a maximum-security military prison."
May you like
"Yes! Yes, anything!" Ethan gasped, clutching his bleeding arm.
"Good," Thomas said, turning toward the door. "Get a medic in here to patch him up. Then get a stenographer. It's going to be a long night."
