Betrayal

Akhtar's voice, that normally boomed with authority, was a shaky wheeze as he rasped, "It's your father." Sam and Arjun could not drag their bewildered stare from the man across the room. The man they thought long dead, their father, stood bathed in the sterile lab light, a ghost from a forgotten past.

Sam's heart hammered against his ribs. Every fiber of his being was screaming for him to run, to get as much space between them and this unsettling revelation as humanly possible. "That is your father," Akhtar went on to repeat, the urgency in his voice contrasting sharply with his trembling form. The air was thick with disbelief. Confused whispers tumbled from their lips and reverberated from the cold metal walls. How? Their mother had spun a narrative of grief, a life built upon the foundation of his supposed demise. Now it all crumbled around them. "We need to get out of here," Sam hissed, his voice tight with suppressed panic. Akhtar opened his mouth to protest, but Sam cut him off, his voice hardening with newfound resolution: "Now." Without another word, they melted into the shadows. Heavily, the dense, cloaking jungle swallowed up the sterile lab. With every step deeper into the wilderness, the weight of their situation settled heavier upon Sam's shoulders. His life, meticulously planned, had fractured into a million unrecognizable pieces. They were being hunted. "I need a damn minute," Sam muttered, the uncertainty clawing at his throat. "Answers. We need answers." Arjun's voice shook as he spoke—usually steady, solid, like a rock. "That was Dad, Sam. You always said…" "That's what Mom said," Sam spat, bitterness lacing his words. "We're definitely on camera now. We need to find a hideout, a place to watch the lab." Akhtar scanned the dense foliage bordering the clearing. "There," he pointed, his voice low and murmury. "The jungle. We can regroup there, figure out what's next." Sam, whose mind was whirling as fast as a tornado, nodded shortly, and they plunged into the wild embrace of the jungle. As dusk drew on, with long shadows cast between the towering trees, something unexpected caught Arjun's sharp eyes. "Hey, over here!" he exclaimed, a hint of excitement bursting through the tension. Ahead, nestled amongst the trees, stood a deserted house. Dusty furniture and cobwebs told the tale of years gone by. A faded ID card lay on the dusty table - Harry Carver, Police Officer. "He must have lived here," said Arjun, showing them the ID. Sam's eyes wandered towards the nearby garage. Unlike the house, that one spoke of recent use. There, parked right in the center, was a gleaming mini-van. Its flawless appearance seemed to contrast sharply with the surroundings. "Someone has been here," Sam said, her finger on a smudge of the hood. "Fingerprints. Fresh ones." Akhtar frowned. "Who?" he asked, his tone heavy with suspicion. Their speculations were broken when there was a creak from inside the garage. One emerged from the shadows, a dark figure outlined against the fading light with a gun glinting icily in his hand. "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice low and menacing. The weight of their precarious situation settled in Sam's gut. This night, it seemed, was full of unwelcome surprises.