12 – The Lab’s Legacy

The Lab's Legacy

The underground lab pulsed with a sterile glow, machines humming as shadows birthed creatures from the glass tubes—Carter's face, Liam's dad's, Maya's aunt's—all twisted, claws gleaming in the flickering light. Liam swung his bat, cracking a skull, ichor splattering the white tiles. The Watcher's voice echoed from the screen—"Because you called…"—a cosmic rasp that shook the chamber, the lullaby roaring in their skulls. Maya clutched her sketchbook, blood dripping from her reopened cut, sketching runes mid-fight. Sofia's wrench smashed a creature's jaw, her scream raw, while Ethan's crowbar thudded, rage fueling each blow. Noah ducked behind a console, journal open, shouting Elias's words over the chaos.

"Keep them back!" Liam yelled, shoving his mom behind a machine. She crouched, trembling, her whispered apologies lost in the din. A creature—his dad's face, eyes glowing—lunged, claws raking his arm. He roared, swinging, ichor soaking his jacket, the badge in his pocket a burning weight.

Maya slashed her knife, carving a rune into a tube's base—glass shattered, the creature inside dissolving into shadow. "The runes work!" she gasped, blood smearing her sketch. "Hit the tubes!"

Sofia spun, wrench cracking a tube, ichor pooling as another fell. Ethan bashed a third, glass raining, but more formed—faster, angrier, the Watcher's laugh swelling. "You delay… nothing," it taunted, the screen flickering, its eyeless face splitting wider.

Noah chanted—"Blood binds, blood breaks…"—his voice shaking, glasses fogged. The runes flared, a pulse of light, and the creatures staggered, shrieking. Liam seized the moment, bat smashing a console—sparks flew, screens dying, the Watcher's voice cutting to static. The room stilled, shadows retreating, the lullaby fading to a hum.

They panted, blood-slicked, the lab a wreck—tubes shattered, machines smoking, papers scattered. Liam helped his mom up, her eyes wide, guilt etched deep. "It's not stopping," she whispered. "I felt it—still here."

"She's right," Noah said, closing the journal. "We hurt it again, but the ley line—it's feeding it."

Ethan kicked a shard, crowbar dented. "So what? We're stuck babysitting this thing forever?"

"No," Maya said, sketching the last rune, hand trembling. "The lab—Protocol tried to control it. There's tech here, maybe a way—"

A thud echoed—above, heavy, boots not claws. The tunnel shook, dust sifting, radios crackling: "Breach confirmed… neutralize…" Liam's stomach dropped. "Operatives. They're back."

Sofia gripped her wrench, fierce again. "We can't fight both."

"We don't," Liam said, voice hard, scanning the lab. "Find something—anything—to use."

Ethan rifled a cabinet—files, syringes, a glowing vial marked W-Extract. "This," he said, holding it up. "Looks like they juiced the Watcher."

Noah snatched a log, scanning: "Extract amplifies containment… unstable… risk of overload." He paled. "It's a weapon—or a bomb."

"Perfect," Liam said, taking it, the vial cold in his hand. "We rig it, blow the ley line."

"And us?" Sofia asked, voice small.

"We run fast," he replied, no time for doubt. Footsteps pounded closer—tunnel's end, lights sweeping. "Now—move!"

They bolted back through the tunnel, walls slick, air pulsing. Maya clutched her sketchbook, Sofia her wrench, Ethan his crowbar, Noah the journal, Liam the vial, his mom stumbling beside him. The operatives burst in behind—black gear, rifles up—shouting: "Drop it!"

Liam didn't stop, tossing a chair into their path. Gunfire cracked, bullets ricocheting, grazing Ethan's shoulder. He grunted, swinging the crowbar back, knocking a rifle loose. Sofia's wrench flew, clocking a helmet, Maya's knife slashed a tire-sized cable—sparks erupted, slowing them.

The stairs loomed—basement, then lobby. They climbed, lungs burning, operatives closing. Liam's leg screamed, blood soaking through, but he pushed, vial glowing brighter. The town hall's doors gaped, fog waiting, and they spilled out, sprinting for the woods.

"Manor!" Liam yelled, the only plan left. "Set it there!"

The pack hit—creatures from the fog, faces theirs now, claws gleaming. Liam smashed one, ichor spraying, Sofia's wrench thudded, Ethan bashed, Maya slashed, Noah ducked, his mom screaming. Operatives fired from behind, caught in the chaos—bullets tore through monsters, not them, a twisted shield.

The manor loomed, doors wide, a trap they ran into. The foyer swallowed them, chandelier swaying, sigils pulsing faintly on the floor—ley line's heart. Liam knelt, vial in hand, as the others braced the doors, creatures and boots pounding outside.

"How?" Maya asked, breathless, sketching fast.

"Break it," Noah said, journal trembling. "Smash it on the sigil—might overload the line."

"Might?" Ethan snapped, shoulder bleeding. "We're betting our lives on 'might'?"

"No choice," Liam said, raising the vial. The doors buckled, claws piercing, operatives shouting: "Breach!" He slammed it down—the glass shattered, a pulse of light exploding, green and searing. The sigils blazed, the manor shook, and the Watcher screamed—cosmic, deafening—walls cracking, ceiling raining dust.

"Out!" Liam roared, dragging his mom. They dove through a side window, glass cutting, landing in fog as the manor groaned, collapsing inward. The light pulsed once, twice, then died, silence crashing in. Creatures vanished, operatives' radios cut—"…signal lost…"—and the fog stilled.

They lay in the dirt, panting, alive. Liam's mom clutched him, sobbing. "It's gone… I don't feel it."

"Maybe," Noah said, glasses cracked, journal soaked. "The line's disrupted—could've trapped it."

"Or pissed it off more," Ethan muttered, tying his sleeve around his shoulder.

Maya checked her palm—no mark, no glow. "The anchors are still off. That's something."

Sofia dropped her wrench, exhausted. "For how long?"

Liam stood, leg screaming, badge heavy. "Long enough to figure out Protocol. They're not done."

Headlights flared—distant, retreating. The operatives were pulling back, but the lullaby hummed—faint, eternal, a whisper in the woods.

That night, Liam's house was a bunker—doors locked, windows boarded. His mom slept, sedated again, while the group sprawled, battered but breathing. Maya sketched the lab's runes, Ethan patched his arm, Sofia prayed silently, Noah read the journal's scraps.

"We're not safe," Liam said, voice low, badge in hand. "Protocol's coming. Watcher's waiting."

"Then we hit first," Maya replied, pencil steady. "Lab's proof—they're scared too."

Sofia nodded, fierce again. "No more running."

Ethan smirked, grim. "Round three, huh?"

Noah closed the journal, resolute. "We've got time. Let's use it."

Outside, the fog pressed, the lullaby a thread in the dark—watching, always watching….