Chapter 5 - The Synthesized Voice
The cold, synthesized voice reverberated through the tinny speakers of the classroom intercom, hanging in the air like a physical threat.
Step away from the equipment immediately, the automated voice repeated, its tone devoid of any human warmth or hesitation.
Mrs. Gable gasped, jumping out of her chair as if she had been physically struck. She stared up at the ceiling speaker in utter disbelief. "That... that's not the principal. That's not even a human voice. What kind of system controls this building?"
"A closed-loop security mainframe," Frank answered grimly, his hand instinctively dropping to the heavy steel hammer tucked into his tool belt. His eyes remained locked on the classroom door. "And it just confirmed my worst suspicion. The security network isn't being run from the basement router room anymore. Someone hijacked the master server remotely."
Evan grabbed the hem of Frank’s brown jacket, his knuckles white. "Mr. Frank, are they going to come in here?"
"Not if I have anything to say about it," Frank replied, stepping quickly toward the heavy wooden door. He reached out and threw the deadbolt, sliding the thick metal bolt into its reinforced frame with a heavy, satisfying thud. He then dragged the teacher's heavy wooden desk across the floor, jamming it firmly beneath the door handle as an added barricade.
Mrs. Gable watched him move with frantic energy, her chest heaving as adrenaline flooded her system. "Frank, we can't barricade ourselves in a classroom! We need to call the police! Where is your cell phone?"
Frank paused, patting down the pockets of his heavy jacket before letting out a low, frustrated growl. "Dead. Completely dead. The moment those cables sparked, my battery indicator dropped to zero. They’re running an electromagnetic pulse sweep through the local relays to fry any active personal electronics in this sector."
"F-fried?" Mrs. Gable stammered, pulling her own smartphone from her maroon shirt pocket. She tapped the screen frantically, but it remained completely black, cold and unresponsive. "Mine won't turn on either. It's totally bricked."
Evan backed away toward the windows, his small frame silhouetted against the gray afternoon sky. "Look outside," he whispered, his voice trembling so hard the words barely formed.
Both adults rushed to the window, peering down through the reinforced glass into the school's central courtyard.
The playground, usually bustling with the chaotic energy of hundreds of children at this time of day, was completely empty. But it wasn't empty of people. Standing near the jungle gym were three figures clad head-to-toe in unmarked, matte-black tactical gear, their faces hidden behind dark ballistic visors. They weren't moving. They were standing in a perfect formation, all three of them staring directly up toward the second-story window of Room 4B.
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One of the figures raised a gloved hand, pressing a finger to the comms unit on their helmet, and pointed a weapon equipped with a heavy optical scope directly at the glass where Evan stood.
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