Pandora's Box

The lab was quiet, the hum of the machines the only sound as Apollo lay resting on the cot. The serum had stabilized him—for now—but time was not on our side. Zeke's flashlight flickered across the room, revealing stacks of old files and terminals, the remnants of research left behind when the outbreak consumed everything above.

Lecroix moved with purpose, scanning the terminals and flipping through scattered notes. He wasn't just looking for a way to help Apollo anymore—there was something else driving him now.

"What exactly are we looking for?" Zeke asked, his voice low but sharp with tension.

"Evidence," Lecroix murmured, his fingers flying across a dusty keyboard. "We need more than just survival. We need something that proves what they did here."

I nodded, glancing at Apollo, who was breathing steadily in his uneasy sleep. It wasn't enough to get out alive. If we were going to stop this, we needed proof—something concrete to expose the government and the scientists who started this nightmare.

Lecroix tapped a few more keys, and the screen flickered to life. Data scrolled across the monitor—medical records, experimental logs, and internal communications. Zeke whistled under his breath.

"This is bad," Zeke muttered, skimming over the documents. "Really bad."

My eyes scanned the screen. They weren't just testing treatments—they were designing mutations. Everything we feared was right here—evidence of intentional genetic manipulation, of experiments deliberately spread through trials, of decisions made knowing they could spiral out of control.

"They knew," I whispered, horror creeping into my voice. "They knew it was going to spread."

Lecroix's expression was grim. "And they did it anyway."

The terminal beeped, and a video feed popped up on the screen, flickering in and out with static. A grainy government transmission. I leaned closer, my pulse quickening.

The image cleared, revealing a man in a military uniform standing at a command post. Behind him, a digital map displayed a glowing hotspot—the area of the outbreak, centered right where we were.

"Containment measures are still holding," the man was saying, his voice calm and detached. "The infection is limited to the quarantined state. The rest of the country remains unaffected."

My breath caught. The spread hadn't reached the rest of the country yet. For now, the infection—and the nightmare it carried—was confined here.

"They're keeping this quiet," Lecroix said, his voice low with disbelief. "They're going to let us burn and pretend the rest of the country is fine."

Zeke clenched his fists. "They knew this whole time. And they just left us here."

Another figure appeared on the feed—a lab technician in a government-issued coat. "The next phase of the plan is in motion," the technician reported. "We're covering the remaining evidence at the facility. Nothing can be traced back to the project."

Lecroix leaned closer, his jaw tight. "They're erasing everything."

I felt a cold rage settle over me. They weren't just abandoning us—they were wiping us out. No one outside the quarantine would know the truth. Not unless we made sure they found out.

"There's more," Zeke said, pulling up another window. His fingers flew over the keyboard, unlocking restricted files. A list of names appeared on the screen—key personnel involved in the project. Some were government officials, but others were scientists—people who had been working on the Echo Protocol long before it spiraled out of control.

I scanned the list, recognizing several familiar names. One of them made my stomach drop. It was the same official who'd lured me into the underground facility.

"They're all connected," Lecroix muttered, reading over my shoulder. "They've been planning this for years."

Zeke's voice cut through the quiet. "We need to broadcast this."

I nodded. "We have to get this out—before they bury everything."

Lecroix's hand brushed lightly against mine, grounding me. "We'll find a way, Lib. But first, we have to get this data secure."

Zeke grinned. "Lucky for you, I know how to make a lot of noise."

He turned to the terminal, already pulling together files, videos, and transmission logs. "I'll send it out to every network, every news agency. The whole country's going to know what happened here."

But just as Zeke started the upload, the screen flickered again. A new message flashed across the display.

"Connection compromised. Emergency lockdown initiated."

The lights dimmed, and an alarm blared through the facility. The infected knew we were here.

"Lib," Lecroix warned, "we've got to move."

"Almost there," Zeke said, his fingers flying over the keys. "Just a few more seconds…"

I glanced toward the door, the distant snarls of the infected growing louder. They were coming, fast.

"Hurry, Zeke!" I shouted, adrenaline flooding my veins.

The monitor pinged, and Zeke grinned triumphantly.

"Upload complete."

The files were out. The truth was out. The world would know.

"We've got it," Zeke confirmed. "Now let's get the hell out of here."

Lecroix grabbed Apollo, supporting him as he stirred weakly from the cot. We couldn't afford to wait.

I spared one last glance at the terminal, the blinking message a reminder of what we'd uncovered. They tried to erase the truth—but we beat them to it.

"Let's go," I said, my voice steady. We weren't running anymore. We were fighting back.

With Lecroix beside me, Zeke leading the way, and Apollo slowly regaining strength, we plunged deeper into the underground tunnels—armed with the truth and determined to make it out alive.