The Meeting

The tunnel spat us out into the open air, and I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with something other than the stale, damp air that had suffocated us underground. But the world outside wasn't any less suffocating. The industrial zone loomed ahead of us, a jagged skeleton of steel and crumbling concrete, half-consumed by time. Abandoned for years, it was now little more than a forgotten ruin—a perfect place for someone who didn't want to be found.

Zeke glanced down at his tablet, the faint glow of the screen casting shadows across his tired face. "We're close," he muttered. "The coordinates point to that complex up ahead."

I followed his gaze. The old factory stood like a monolith against the dull gray sky, its windows broken and walls blackened by time and fire. The air here was thick with a sense of foreboding, like the place itself was holding its breath, waiting for something terrible to happen. My pulse quickened, but it wasn't fear that gripped me. It was the nagging feeling that whatever waited for us here would change everything.

Apollo fell into step beside me, his presence solid and comforting even in the face of what we were about to do. His hand brushed mine, a subtle gesture that sent warmth through me despite the chill in the air.

"You okay?" His voice was soft, a quiet concern threaded through his words. The world around us might have been falling apart, but in that moment, it was just us.

"I don't know," I admitted, keeping my voice low. "I feel like we're walking into a trap."

"Maybe we are," he said, his eyes locking onto mine. "But we're in this together, Liberty. No matter what."

His words held a weight that settled deep inside me. I glanced away, trying to keep the whirlwind of emotions from overwhelming me, but I couldn't ignore the closeness between us, the quiet tension that had been building for so long. I wasn't sure if it was the danger that heightened everything or if it was something we'd been avoiding all along, but in this moment, with the world crumbling around us, it felt like there was nothing left to hide behind.

The group pressed on, moving toward the factory. Zeke led the way, his eyes scanning every shadow, every movement in the distance. He was cautious, paranoid even, and I couldn't blame him. There was something about this place that felt wrong, like the walls themselves were watching us.

As we approached the building, the wind shifted, carrying with it the faint, unmistakable sound of a growl. My heart skipped a beat.

"Keep moving," Zeke muttered, his voice tight with urgency. "We're almost there."

We entered the factory through a rusted side door, the metal creaking under the weight of time. Inside, the air was thick with dust, and the faint light filtering through the broken windows did little to chase away the shadows. The place was huge, a maze of empty rooms and forgotten machinery, but it felt... alive. Like something was lurking just beyond the edge of our vision.

"There," Zeke said, pointing toward a door on the far side of the room. "That's where the signal is coming from."

I exchanged a glance with Apollo. His jaw was set, his eyes hard, but when he looked at me, the intensity softened, just for a moment. "Whatever happens, stay close," he whispered, his hand brushing mine again, this time more deliberate. "I don't trust this."

Neither did I.

We moved toward the door, each step slow, deliberate. Zeke reached for the handle, his fingers tense, and then he pushed it open. The door groaned on its hinges, revealing a narrow hallway that led deeper into the building. At the end of the hall, a faint light flickered—someone was there.

"Let's go," Zeke said, his voice barely above a whisper.

We moved as one, our footsteps eerily quiet on the cracked concrete floor. My heart pounded in my chest, each beat echoing in my ears. The hallway seemed to stretch on forever, and with every step, the air grew heavier, the tension thicker.

When we finally reached the end, the room opened up into a larger space, dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. And there, standing in the center, was a figure—a man, tall, his face obscured by the shadows.

"Who are you?" Zeke demanded, his voice hard, cutting through the stillness.

The figure stepped forward, and as he moved into the light, I felt the breath leave my lungs. His face was older now, worn by years, but I recognized him instantly. Dr. Markus Hawke, one of my mother's colleagues from when I was a child. A man who had disappeared when my mother fell ill.

"You," I breathed, my voice barely audible.

Dr. Hawke smiled, a cold, calculating expression. "Liberty Crox," he said, his voice smooth and unsettling. "It's been a long time."

Apollo stepped in front of me, his stance protective. "You know her?"

Dr. Hawke's smile widened. "Oh, I know all about Liberty. And her mother."

The mention of my mother sent a chill down my spine. "What do you know?" I asked, stepping around Apollo, my heart racing. "Tell me what you know about Project Echo. About me."

Dr. Hawke's gaze lingered on me, and for a moment, the room seemed to grow colder. "Your mother was the key," he said, his voice low. "She was one of the first to volunteer for the project. She believed in the work we were doing—believed we could create something that would save the world."

His words twisted in my gut. "Save the world? You created a virus that's destroying it."

"We didn't create the virus," Dr. Hawke said, his tone matter-of-fact. "We found it. And we used it. Your mother believed it could be controlled—manipulated to cure disease, to create a better future. But when she fell ill... well, that's when things changed."

I took a step closer, anger flaring in my chest. "You used her."

Dr. Hawke's smile faded. "Your mother was a brilliant scientist, Liberty. But she underestimated the power of the infection. When she became a carrier, we had no choice but to adapt."

I felt Apollo's hand on my arm, steadying me, grounding me. His touch was warm, a reminder that I wasn't alone in this. But I couldn't shake the feeling that everything I'd known about my mother, about myself, had been twisted into something darker, something I couldn't control.

"And me?" I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper. "What did you do to me?"

Dr. Hawke's eyes flickered, a brief flash of something—regret, maybe? But it was gone as quickly as it had come. "You were part of Phase Two. Your genetics made you... special. The infection in you is dormant, waiting for activation. You're a catalyst, Liberty. The next step in the evolution of the infection."

The floor seemed to drop out from under me. "What?"

He stepped closer, his voice softer now, almost gentle. "You're the future, Liberty. You hold the key to controlling the infection—or accelerating it."

I felt the blood drain from my face. My hands shook, and I stumbled back, into Apollo's arms. His grip tightened, pulling me close to him, shielding me from the crushing weight of the truth. My breath hitched, and for a moment, I couldn't think, couldn't breathe.

"You're lying," Apollo growled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "She's not some experiment."

Dr. Hawke's smile returned. "I wish I were lying. But the truth is, Liberty's been part of this since before she was born."

The room spun, my heart racing as the full weight of his words settled over me. The infection was inside me. Waiting.

"Get away from her," Apollo snapped, stepping in front of me, his hand on the hilt of his weapon. "We're done here."

But before we could move, a sudden, deafening crash echoed through the building. The infected. Their growls reverberated through the walls, shaking the ground beneath us. They were here—and they weren't alone.

"We have to go," Zeke said, his voice sharp with urgency. "Now."

Dr. Hawke stepped back into the shadows. "You can't run from this, Liberty. The infection is inside you. You have a choice—embrace it, or let it destroy you."

His words hung in the air as the infected drew closer, their snarls echoing through the narrow halls.

Apollo's hand found mine, pulling me toward the exit, but his grip was more than just a way out. It was a promise—a promise that we were in this together, no matter how dark the truth became.