Chapter 8 - The Interrogation in the Dark
A heavy-set man in a tactical vest bearing no insignia slammed Mark against the exposed brick of the attic chimney, pressing the barrel of a silenced pistol hard against his collarbone. The agent’s face was obscured by a black balaclava, but his eyes—hard, weathered, and piercingly cold—stared down at Mark with absolute authority.
“Where is the primary sample, Reynolds?” the agent demanded, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that brooked no argument. “You have five seconds before my team clears this entire structure with live ordinance.”
Mark coughed, fighting through the lingering sweet vapor in his lungs as he glared back at the intruder. “There’s nothing up here except my family! Get out of my house!”
The agent let out a dry, humorless laugh and lowered the pistol slightly, though he kept a firm grip on Mark’s jacket. He gestured with his head toward the corner of the attic, where the iron-banded box sat resting on a stack of old ledgers. The box was now completely sealed, the mysterious red glow entirely vanished.
“Your family died in a fire three years ago, Mr. Reynolds,” the agent said, his tone chillingly matter-of-fact. “What you’ve been harboring in the crawl spaces and closets of this house isn't human. It’s an extraction unit left behind by the syndicate your father betrayed in the late eighties. They use genetic mimetic resonance to infiltrate bloodlines and siphon military research directly from human hosts.”
Mark’s mind reeled, the pieces of Clara’s cryptic warnings and the impossible sight of identical daughters violently colliding. He thought of Lily downstairs, of the burn-scarred girl in the blue blanket, and of the terrifying transformation he had just witnessed. “That’s a lie,” Mark stammered, though his voice lacked conviction. “My wife—Clara knows everything. She’s been protecting them.”
“Clara was a junior researcher on the original project,” the agent replied, stepping closer and pressing a heavy thumb against Mark’s chest. “She didn't save your daughter from the fire, Reynolds. She helped smuggle the primary test subject out of the laboratory before the facility was torched to cover up the breach.”
The attic door below slammed open, followed by rapid footsteps ascending the wooden stairs, and a second agent burst into the space dragging a struggling, pale-faced Clara by the arms.
Clara looked at Mark, her eyes filled with a desperate, heartbreaking apology as she shook her head. “I’m sorry, Mark,” she wept, her voice trembling violently. “They were going to terminate her in the lab. I had to hide her where no one would ever look.”
May you like
Before Mark could answer, the floor beneath them shuddered violently, accompanied by a deafening roar from the basement that shook the entire foundation of the house.
---
