Chapter 4 - Crimson Alarm
The sudden shift in lighting painted the elegant marble hallway in shades of arterial red, casting long, distorted shadows across the grand staircase.
“What is that?” Julian demanded, dropping the manila folder as papers scattered across the floor, mixing with the spilled yellow oil.
Clara didn't flinch at the flashing alarms; instead, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small, encrypted tablet device that was already blinking with a rapid green sequence.
“The containment protocol just initiated automatically,” Clara said, her voice entirely devoid of panic. “Someone down in the subterranean lab just breached the primary quarantine door.”
Julian’s breath caught in his throat as he remembered the experimental subjects housed in the sub-level facility—patients suffering from a neurological pathogen that the World Health Organization had classified as extremely volatile.
“The trial subjects are still down there without atmospheric shielding?” Julian shouted over the low, rhythmic wail of the klaxon.
“They were,” Walter corrected, stepping past Julian toward the heavy oak exit doors that he had locked moments earlier. “Until the ventilation system was manually reversed from the inside.”
Julian rushed forward, grabbing Walter by the lapel of his dark t-shirt and slamming him against the reinforced wooden door.
“Who reversed it, Walter? Tell me right now!” Julian demanded, his knuckles white as he tightened his grip.
Walter didn't resist; he simply looked down at Julian’s hands with an expression of cold indifference.
“Dr. Evans,” Walter wheezed out, coughing slightly from the impact. “He went down there to destroy the data, but he didn't count on the pathogen being airborne at room temperature.”
Clara tapped rapidly on her tablet screen, her face turning pale as she read the incoming telemetry data from the subterranean level.
“The oxygen levels in the lab are dropping fast,” Clara announced, her professional detachment cracking slightly. “If we don't vent the entire hallway right now, the pressure differential is going to blow the elevator shafts wide open.”
Julian released Walter instantly, spinning around to face the grand staircase where the air was already beginning to shimmer with a faint, oily vapor rising from the lower steps.
“There has to be a manual release valve for the ventilation ducts on this floor,” Julian said, scanning the ornate molding along the ceiling.
“There is,” Walter said, rubbing his chest where Julian had grabbed him. “Behind the painting of your grandfather.”
Julian didn't hesitate a second longer; he sprinted toward the massive oil painting hanging at the landing of the stairs, ripped the heavy gilded frame away from the wall, and exposed a rusted iron wheel valve.
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He gripped the wheel with both hands and turned it with all his might, hearing a deafening hiss as the wall panel blew open to reveal a hidden elevator shaft plunging straight down into total darkness.
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