There are no security cameras guarding the door, and I’m not entirely sure if that’s because they don’t have any working ones, or because it would look more suspicious to someone if they ever pass by, so the members decided to forgo using them.
It works to my advantage though as I hunch-walk closer to the solid block of steel that plays gatekeeper to the secrets I want to discover.
Making sure to stay low, I pull the copying device from a pocket and smoothly slide it over the keypad’s surface. It’s clear, and not so thick as to be readily noticeable - Kenji did a bomb-ass job - so I’m keeping my fingers crossed no one finds it before I come back tomorrow night.
To test it, I duck back into my hide-y hole and wait.
You’d think adrenaline at testing out my new toy would keep me popping, but I’m almost drowsing by the time footsteps echo down the hallway, and I hastily wipe a line of drool from my gaping mouth. Ick! Sitting up, I make sure not to bump anything and hold my breath as the nondescript person enters their code.
When the light flashes red in the top right-hand corner, my heart stalls in my chest.
Fuck!! This isn’t good!
“Dammit, stupid fucking thing.” The man — it’s PPE-dude! — exclaims, before tapping out his code again, pushing the pound sign at the beginning this go round.
The light flares green, and I hear locks disengaging from the other side.
My pulse picks up speed once more, and I breath a silent sigh of relief. Thank the fucking Gods.
Giving PPE-dude just enough time to bring the door closed behind him, I gather my things and sprint away.
Making a split decision, I let my feet guide me to Mr. Penguin’s corner of the building. If he’s in his office tonight, maybe I can kill two birds with one stone and figure out whether or not he ever found what he was searching for.
And discern what exactly he needed to begin with.
Cutting through a dark passageway, I pause, stalling a moment before taking the last few steps around the bend.
What if the is door is open? Shit. Okay… Ah!
Pulling out my phone, which desperately needs to be charged, I turn on the camera and tilt the device just past the edge of the wall. Only a bit of it can be seen if anyone glances this way, but the angle allows me to glean that the door is, in fact, closed.
No light shines from beneath. He must not be here tonight.
To hell with it all.
Jogging down the hallway on silent feet, I press my back to the wall just beside Mr. Penguin’s office door, listening for any movement within.
Silence.
I might as well take advantage of the lovely opportunity laid out before me. Pulling out my handy-dandy lock picking kit, I quickly set to work on the outdated handle, glancing over my shoulder every few breaths to be sure no one is sneaking up on me.
It doesn’t take more than a minute or so before all the tumblers click home. Twisting the knob, I push open the door on soundless hinges.
Inside, it’s entirely cluttered with odds and ends scattered about the desk and bookcases. As much time as I’ve spent in dark recesses tonight, it’s not difficult to see the solid objects against the backdrop of shadows in the room.
Is Mr. P a hoarder? Do those even exist anymore?
Probably.
Stepping in, I make sure to close the door behind me before pulling out my phone and using the flashlight feature to illuminate the dusty space.
If I hadn’t seen someone here just a few weeks ago, I’d think it was completely unused.
A thin layer of grime coats most of the surfaces, sans the desk. Likely Mr. Penguin doesn’t have use for anything else but the mahogany monstrosity. I mean, the desk is big. Easily two-hundred pounds.
Whoever this office belonged to Before had good taste in carpentry I’ll give them that.
Shaking off the random train of thought, I go around behind the desk, stepping over piles of books stacked in a wayward path on the grungy floor. Pushing the rolling chair to the side, I hover my light over pieces of papers strewn about on the desks surface, trying to determine if anything stands out as useful.
A logo of what looks to be a segmented raindrop, with swirls and disconnected lines, catches my eye, tucked behind some other papers. I slide the document out, scanning the words.
It’s a lab report, with Atlas’s moniker printed directly underneath the logo.
Jackpot!!
I only recognize a few of the phrases that are in plain English - some standing out more than others. Specifically, ‘Genetic analysis of Subject-A27’. Words like, “Failed” and “Incomplete” are slashed across the page in bold lettering.
Whatever Subject-A27 was supposed to be documented for, it obviously didn’t go well.
I snap a quick picture of the paper, then slide it back into the exact place I found it.
Moving on to the drawers, I jiggle the top one, only to find it locked tight. Not sure how much time I have, I bypass it and move on to the next. There are three compartments in all on one side, a middle drawer that’s long and flat with writing utensils rolling about within, and two deeper ones on the other side.
It’s the bottom one on the left that proves the most fruitful. There are dozens of files inside, all labeled similarly with Subject-A01 all the way through A26. I itch to sort through them all, but my anxiety is already peaking from being in here for so long.
Glancing at the time, I have to do a double take. It’s nearing three in the morning!
I shuffle through the records, yanking out a paper or two from a few of them. Crossing my fingers they won’t be missed, I stuff the documents roughly into one of the cargo pockets on my sleuthing pants and hastily shove the drawer closed.
After one more check to make sure I put everything back as it was when I arrived, I get the fuck out of Mr. P’s domain.
◆◆◆
The papers feel like hot cinders in my pocket, burning a whole straight through my pants to singe the skin of my leg. Every crinkling noise they make as I walk sounds as loud as shattering glass to my overly-sensitive ears.
Rationally I’m aware that no one else knows what they are, or even that I possess them, but my mind likes playing tricks.
It’s late. No one is about, as usual. No one to ferret me out. But I can still feel the sweat forming on my upper lip as I rush on quick feet to my room.
Fumbling with anxiety ridden movements, I quickly secure the door behind me before flipping on a light and scanning the room for intruders. You can’t ever be too careful when you’re hoarding stolen evidence in your britches.
Satisfied no one ninja’d their way into the observatory in my absence, I amble to a far corner of the room where I’ve piled extra blankets and pillows to create a makeshift reading nook.
Hunkering down into the soft comfort of the pillow nest, I withdraw the pages shakily, unsure I want to know the things they have to reveal. But I don’t truly have a choice, do I? Flattening the creases out across my knees, I attempt to figure out what I’m reading.
Come on college, be worth something!!
At the top of the stack is lab documentation for Subject-A14, and as I read through the segmented portions, I realize with a dawning horror that the genetic information I’m staring at belongs to a human being.
But it’s fucked. Completely and utterly fucked somehow.
Almost like a new protein has been introduced into the host’s DNA, essentially corrupting what made them ‘human’ as we know the species to be.
Thank you, advanced study group members!
I hadn’t made it to molecular biology in school, but we’d had optional study sessions with students further into their medical courses to give us a leg up. Without them, I’d have zero knowledge of what was laid out before me.
Basically, the papers are reports written up by a scientist to provide documentation into experiments they’re conducting on humans and their DNA.
So, some fucked up shit.
It
occurs to me that I could be holding proof of whatever they’d done to Gladys. Maybe they were fucking with her DNA and that’s why she looked so off to me when I saw her. But that would mean all of these ‘Subject’ numbers were once homo sapiens, too. Potentially even people I was acquainted with!
“Oh, holy hell.”
Nausea rolls through me like a wave, and I have to place a hand over my mouth to keep from spewing what little contents are in my stomach. The sheet I’d found on Mr. Penguin’s desk said Subject-A27… Did that mean Atlas has tortured twenty-seven people?!
The idea is almost beyond fathoming, and I can’t quite wrap my head around it.
Why would they do such a thing? What would the purpose be? Could this be what Agent Calder and Dad were trying to find?
Agent Calder. I need to see him, time now, and force him to spill everything he knows. And by force, I mean beg, because his ass is huge and I probably couldn’t hurt a hair on him even on my best day.
Sifting through the remainder of the swiped files, I find much the same. All detailing deficient experiments, with a giant red ‘FAILED’ stamped across the bottom of each.
Hefting myself from the floor, slightly disappointed to leave the comfy spot, I fold the evidence - neatly this time - and slide them into the back of my pants, under my sweater. It’s nearly four in the morning, but this can’t wait. Who knows what Atlas is doing beyond the steel door right now to innocent people?
I try to think of who would know where to find Calder, but I come up blank. The only person that’s seemed to notice him around The Compound other than me is….
God dammit, mother fucking, cunt-swabbling BITCH TITS!!
Big girl panties, Sadie… It can’t be helped.
Resolved, I trudge with begrudging steps toward Luca’s dorm. Of course, I just had a conversation with him about distancing ourselves so he can spend some time figuring his shit out — and now I need his help.
Fuck you, Karma.
There are a few more people going about their business at this hour than there were during my daring spy adventures, but I give them a wide berth. In turn, they don’t even glance my way as I prepare myself for the proverbial shit-show that’s about to go down.
Squaring my shoulders, I allow a calming breath to whisper past my lips before giving Luca’s door a few good knocks. Butterflies dance around my abdomen as I wait for him to answer. Not having a game plan in place for this conversation is dumb, but what’s a girl to do?
“Yeah, just a sec,” he hollers from inside.
His surprise at seeing me almost instantly turns to wariness, and same as the first time I came by, he makes a point to block my view of the apartment within. I faintly hear a woman’s voice calling out to him and my face goes pale.
I almost bail. This is too much. He was waxing poetic and feeling me up not even a week ago, and now some chick is at his place? But I stop myself from disappearing back the way I came. This is a lot more fucking important than our petty shit right now.
“Hey.” Eloquent. “I only need a second, then you can get back to,” I move my hand in an all-encompassing gesture at his half-dressed state, “whatever it is you were doing.”
He doesn’t react to my completely unveiled insinuation; just waits quietly to see what I’ve come for. Rude.
“Look, I need to talk to the new guy that was in the caf. and I don’t know where to find him. I figured since you seemed to know him, you could point me in the right direction.” I try for a puppy dog face that I’m pretty sure tanks almost immediately, if his unimpressed smirk is anything to go by. “It’s important.”
He gazes at me with suspicion in his deep blue eyes, clearly unhappy with my insistence. “Whatever he could help you with, why don’t you just ask me? I’ve been here longer. I’ll know more than he would anyway.” His British accent starts taking over and I can sense his frustration building.
He’s being cocky, and it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. What happened to the sweet, helpful, considerate dude I’d been spending my time with over the last couple of months?
“Because it’s something only he knows about, and I’m not willing to share other people’s business.” Getting worked up, confused by his attitude, and seriously disappointed at how things are sitting with the two of us right now, I have a hard time holding back the bite in my tone. “Can you tell me where he is or not, Luca? I’m in a hurry.”
“Luca, what’s taking so long? Are you coming back to bed?” A scantily glad twenty-something with bleach blond hair and a huge rack sidles up to him, wrapping her arms around his torso so tightly it reminds me of an octopus I once saw on a sea-life documentary — strangling its prey.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he flinches at her clinging touch.
“I’ll be back in a minute, Morgan.” He responds, suddenly all syrup and sweetness. He plants a soft kiss on the top of her hair…. Like he had me not that long ago.
This is bullshit.
Annoyed, yet mollified, she wanders off back into the apartment. Luca’s blank mask falls back into place so quickly I have to do a double take to make sure the same man is still standing in front of me. “Far as I know, the Calder dude is holed up in Dorm 2 where the big guns are. Third floor. Good luck finding him.” He slams the door in my face.
I’m shocked, hurt and rightfully pissed off. Was everything he said to me a lie? Every action. Every heated moment of awareness between us? Holy fuck am I glad I didn’t let him take my virginity!
Fucking prick!
Storming off, I set a brisk pace towards Agent Calder’s housing unit. I can practically feel the steam shooting out my ears by the time I find someone awake in his building, bark at them about directions to his dorm, and stomp my way up the stairs.
I’m such a mix of emotions right now, it’s no wonder that I don’t notice him already standing in his hallway, staring me down with concern in his mint-flecked eyes. He’s dressed in worn out jeans and a plain black button-up that’s definitely seen better days. The hand-me-downs do nothing to detract from the delicious muscles I spy just beyond the fabric, though. He’s sporting a scruffy five o’clock shadow that I find I want to feel pressed beneath my palm. I wonder if it’s prickly?
Focus.
“Woah, Saedie. What’s the rush?” His voice sounds like rocks clashing together in a landslide, and it does nothing to calm my spaz-tastic nerves — just serves to throw a new emotion to the mix that was already starting a slow burn within me. Desire.
Ignoring everything, I take a second to compose myself.
“We need to talk. Now.”
He must see the crazy in my gaze, because he immediately agrees. Turning around and reentering his apartment, he has to duck to make it through the door frame. I’m not far behind, closing and locking the door for good measure.
“What’s going on, Saedie?” He asks, obvious concern dancing across his handsome features. He may be big and burly, but he doesn’t do a good job at hiding his emotions — at least not from me. And I hardly know the guy.
Shower thoughts for another time.
Agent Calder’s hulk-like frame makes the spartan room we’re standing in seem so much smaller, and I almost ask to go somewhere else to talk. Sadly, privacy is paramount.
“I need to know what had the U.S. government tracking Nyler. All of it.”
Rocking back on his heels, he considers me for a moment. “Tell me why.”
I almost stamp my foot like a pre-teen throwing a tantrum. “I will. After.” The ‘If I believe what I hear’ is heavily implied.
He debates for a beat, studying me closely, then seems to come to a decision if a mite reluctantly. “Alright.” Relief floods my veins - fuck, yes! Something is finally going my way this fucked up morning. “Take a seat, it’ll be a while before we’re done.”
So I do. Sitting down on one end of his sofa, while he sits at the other, there’s only a foot or so of space between us. He’s just that big.
“Start fr
om the beginning, please, Agent Calder.”
He launches into a tale of how Commander Nyler used to be a scientist, studying the human genome for over a decade. His main research focus was finding a way to improve, even alter, human DNA to make our species stronger — faster — more efficient in the way we live. Only, a lot of his experiments where frowned upon and generally forbidden by the academic community he prescribed to; stating they went against basic human rights in a multitude of ways.
Nyler, up until the end of his career, had been happily married with two young children. Right before he switched from science to warfare, his family was killed in a highly questionable accident, thought to be the work of a group of nefarious foreign entities when he refused to help them build bio-weapons set for use against the United States.
Instead of caving to their whims, he took his anger and joined up with the U.S. Military. Working his way up through the ranks to Commander quicker than most had ever achieved, he made himself a well-known figure in the mounting war efforts against bio-terrorism. When the government discovered Nyler was still secretly performing experiments on the homeless, playing with their genetic makeup, he was swiftly and dishonorably discharged. Agent Calder says Nyler would have spent years upon years in prison if he hadn’t brokered a deal for information on the same terrorists who allegedly had his family murdered.
So he was free. No longer a respected individual in the world of military politics, but still well known to those contacts he’d made during his time in service. He’d used deployments as a means to network with like-minded folk, who believed he was before his time in imagining what could be done to make humans ‘better’ than what they currently are.
Fast forward ten years, and here we are. Agent Calder assures me Nyler had nothing to do with ODR. That, though highly suspicious of the timing, the government had been able to confirm Outbreak Dead Rain was simply a horrible mistake caused by humans’ lack of care for the world we live on. Shitty, but who am I to argue?
My dad, Agent Calder, and a team of fifteen other individuals with high security clearance into our country’s secrets, were tasked with keeping an eye on Nyler over the years. Making sure he kept his nose clean, and his hands away from unsuspecting test subjects.
Atlas (Apocalyptic Cries Book 1) Page 10
