Chapter 3 - The Ghost Protocol
Ava shrank back against the thin hospital pillow, her breath catching in her throat. The man in the orderly uniform was not a nurse; his shoulders were broad, his knuckles bore calloused scars, and his eyes carried no medical warmth.
"Karen," the orderly hissed, stepping fully into the small cubicle. "Get her off the bed. We have less than two minutes before the local precinct floods this floor."
"Who are you?" Dr. Harrison demanded, instantly reaching for the emergency call button on the wall.
The man didn't flinch. In a single, fluid motion, he snatched the cord from the wall jack, severing the connection. "Doctor, if you care about keeping this girl alive, do not press that button. The officers outside aren't taking Richard down to the station. They work for him."
Karen stood up, her indecisiveness suddenly vanishing, replaced by a cold, hardened survival instinct Ava had never seen in her mother before. She reached under the gurney and grabbed Ava’s worn sneakers. "Put these on, Ava. Don't worry about the laces."
"Mom, no! My leg—it's broken!" Ava sobbed, clutching the yellow metal guardrail. "You said Richard was my father! You said we moved here for a fresh start!"
"He isn't your father, Ava," Karen said, her voice cracking as she threw the plastic raincoat over her daughter's trembling shoulders. "He was assigned to watch us. And he failed his containment protocol the second he broke your bone."
Dr. Harrison backed against the counter, her hands raised slightly. "If you move her now, that fracture will displace. She needs surgery!"
"She won't survive the night in this ward," the man said. He unclipped a radio on his belt and clicked the transponder twice. "Unit Four, bring the service elevator up. We have the asset."
Through the frosted glass of the cubicle partition, Ava saw silhouettes rushing past. A sharp crack—like a muffled gunshot—echoed from down the hall, followed by a woman's scream. The hospital alarm shifted from a soft chime to a blaring, pulsing red strobe.
"Richard broke free," the stranger said calmly, pulling a folding wheelchair from the hallway alcove. "Karen, lift her."
Ava tried to kick, but a bolt of agony shot through her tibia, rendering her helpless. Her mother and the stranger hoisted her onto the wheelchair. As they rolled her toward the back fire exit, Ava glanced down at her wrist. The plastic intake bracelet had already been sliced off.
May you like
The fire door crashed open, revealing a concrete staircase leading down into the subterranean delivery tunnels beneath the hospital.
Standing at the bottom of the stairwell, waiting beneath a flickering yellow light bulb, stood Richard Mitchell—blood smeared across his collar, holding an drawn sidearm.
