Trapped and Traced

The first rays of dawn crept across the city, painting the sky in shades of grey and pale pink. The 31st of October had arrived, the day of the impending ritual, and the air crackled with a palpable tension.

Inside the van's cargo hold, Liam shivered, the cold seeping into his bones. The night had been long and torturous, a constant battle against fear and claustrophobia. He had tried to sleep, but his mind wouldn't allow it, replaying the employee's panicked confession, the slamming doors, and the suffocating silence.

He checked the food, water, and oxygen supplies again, realising they were meant for survival, not escape. He was trapped, like a prisoner in a metal tomb, and he had no idea how long he would remain there.

Back at Reyes's garage, the atmosphere was thick with anxiety. Reyes, his face etched with worry, worked feverishly at his console. The tracking blip had vanished from his screen, leaving behind an empty space, a chilling reminder of Liam's disappearance.

He tried to re-establish contact, sending out pulses of energy, but the signal-blocking material was effective, creating an impenetrable barrier. He reviewed the data from the employee's phone call, searching for a clue, a lead, anything that could point him towards Liam's location.

Sam, sensing Reyes's distress, demanded to know what was happening. "Where's Liam?" he asked, his voice sharp, his eyes filled with concern.

Reyes explained the situation: the likely betrayal, the meeting point, and the sudden loss of signal. "He's somewhere that's blocking communication," Reyes said, his voice tight. "I just hope he hasn't been moved too far."

Sam felt a surge of guilt and anger, a bitter taste in his mouth. "We have to find him," he said, his voice tight.

"I'm trying," Reyes replied, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "I'm tracking the employee's last known location. He headed towards a specific area."

"Tell me where," Sam said, his voice insistent. "I'll go."

"No," Reyes said, his voice firm. "You need to stay here. You're the only one who can disrupt the signal from the device."

Sam knew Reyes was right, but the thought of Liam trapped and alone gnawed at him. He began to try and help Reyes from the garage, searching for any information that could lead them to Liam.

Reyes, his mind racing, decided to go after the employee himself. He couldn't wait any longer. "I'm going after him," he said, his voice resolute.

He grabbed his jacket, his eyes determined. "Keep working on the signal," he told Sam. "I'll keep you updated if I can."

He left the garage, stepping into the pre-dawn chill, his mind focused on finding Liam.

He headed towards the employee's last known location, a dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of the city. He approached cautiously, his senses heightened, his footsteps silent on the gravel.

He slipped through a broken window, entering the dimly lit interior.

He heard voices, hushed and tense, coming from a back room. He moved closer, his hand resting on the pistol tucked into his waistband.

He heard the employee's voice, trembling and desperate. "Please let my family go now. I did as you told me. I left him in the van compartment on the outskirts of the city. He should be running out of oxygen already."

A cold, hard voice responded. "What if he isn't dead yet?"

"Please, I've been waiting since last night like you said, it should be enough now. My family..."

A phone rang, and the cold voice spoke into it. "They're clear. Let them go."

The employee sighed with relief. "Thank you," he said, turning to leave.

"Wait," the cold voice said. "We agreed to let your family go, not you."

"What? Why?" the employee asked, his voice rising in panic.

"You know too much. We'll have to dispose of you now."

"N-no please! I promise I won't tell anyone!" The employee pleaded, his voice cracking.

Reyes tensed, his grip tightening on his weapon. He knew he had to act, but he also knew he needed to find Liam. He made a quick decision, slipping back out the window, and moving to find the location that Liam was taken.

He now knew for sure that the employee was not going to be any help, and Liam's life was on the line.

Reyes moved swiftly, his movements fluid and efficient. The employee's hideout was farther than he'd anticipated, and the pre-dawn chill gradually gave way to the warmth of the rising sun.

As he moved away from the warehouse, he pulled out his phone and dialed Sam's number.

"Sam," he said, his voice low. "Office hours will start soon. You need to proceed with your mission."

"What about you?" Sam asked, his voice laced with concern. "Aren't you coming to aid me from the garage?"

"I won't make it in time," Reyes replied, his voice firm. "I'm sorry, Sam. Just focus on disrupting that signal. That's the priority now."

"It's okay," Sam said, a hint of worry in his voice. "Don't worry about it. I just hope Liam will be alright."

"Don't worry, I know where he is now, I'm on my way to get him." Reyes said, then he ended the call, and focused on the task ahead of him.

By the time he reached the location where Liam's signal had last been recorded, the sun shone down brilliantly, casting long shadows across the deserted landscape. He approached cautiously, his senses heightened, his eyes scanning the area.

He spotted the van, parked a short distance away, its dark paint reflecting the harsh sunlight. He approached cautiously, his hand resting on his weapon.

Sam had arrived at the company building, his heart pounding in his chest. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. He knew this was it. The moment of truth.

He walked towards the main entrance, his footsteps echoing on the polished marble floor. He was stopped by the same security guards as before, their expressions stern.

"Can I help you, sir?" one of the guards asked, his voice sharp.

"I'm here to see Mr. Richards," Sam replied, his voice steady. He pulled out the VIP access card, the one Mr. Richards had given him.The guards exchanged a wary glance. "Aren't you that guy from the other day?" one of them asked, his eyes narrowed. "The sixth floor's executive said you made an alarm go off."

"I'm afraid we might have to deny you entry today," the other guard said, his voice firm.

Sam's heart sank. He had anticipated this, but he had hoped the card would be enough. He began to worry, thinking he might have to resort to infiltrating the building through a less conventional route.

Just then, a familiar voice echoed through the lobby. "Well, if it isn't Mr. Drake. Here for a visit?" Mr. Richards emerged from the back. He had just arrived for the day and had a warm smile on his face. The guards immediately straightened up, their expressions changing to respectful greetings.

"Good morning, sir!" they chorused.

"Good morning, gentlemen," Mr. Richards replied, his eyes still fixed on Sam. "Mr. Drake and I have some important business to discuss. Please, let him through."

Sam breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Mr. Richards," he said, his voice grateful. "I appreciate your assistance."

"Not a problem at all, Mr. Drake," Mr. Richards replied, gesturing towards his office. "Please, come in. We have much to discuss."

Sam followed Mr. Richards into his office, the heavy oak door closing behind them. He knew he had to act quickly, to find a way to disrupt the mind control device before it was too late.

He was inside the building, now he just needed to find a way to get to the sixth floor.

"So, Mr. Drake, what brings you here today? It seemed really important," Mr. Richards asked Sam, his voice warm and inviting. He gestured towards a plush leather armchair and offered Sam a steaming cup of tea from a silver pot on his desk.

"Just Sam will be alright, Sir. Yes, I came for something important," he replied, startling Mr. Richards a bit with the abrupt informality. "Will you listen to me?"

"Of course, Sam," Mr. Richards smiled reassuringly, a hint of curiosity in his eyes. "You can trust me, tell me everything."

Sam took a deep breath, trying to organise his thoughts. "There's a planned genocide," he blurted out, the words hanging heavy in the air. "A ritual. They're going to use something… a device… to control everyone in this building. They want to sacrifice them."

Mr. Richards's smile faltered, his eyes widening slightly. "Sam, what are you talking about?" he asked, his voice laced with disbelief.

"I know it sounds crazy," Sam said, his voice urgent, "but it's true. You need to get to safety, now. And you need to prepare to transfer any important data and assets. They're going to use this building as a… a threshold."

He looked at his watch.

10:27.

"We don't have much time."

Mr. Richards's face paled, the color draining from his cheeks. He stared at Sam for a moment, his mind struggling to process the information. Then, with a sudden burst of energy, he stood up, his chair scraping against the polished floor.

"This is… this is unbelievable," he muttered, his voice trembling slightly. He reached for his phone, his fingers moving quickly across the keypad. "I need to make some calls. I need to get people out of here."

He began issuing orders, his voice sharp and authoritative, instructing concerned personnel to initiate emergency protocols, to secure sensitive data, to prepare for immediate evacuation.

"Dismiss all employees for the day," he commanded, his voice ringing with urgency. "Tell them to leave the building immediately."

Sam glanced out the window, his heart sinking. Not a single soul was leaving the building. The streets below were bustling with the usual morning traffic, but the company's employees were nowhere to be seen.

"They're not leaving," Sam said, his voice low, his eyes fixed on the window. "Something's wrong."

Mr. Richards's face grew even paler. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice strained.

"We need to check the surveillance cameras," Sam said, his voice urgent. They rushed to the surveillance room, a small, dimly lit space filled with monitors displaying feeds from cameras throughout the building.

The images on the screens were horrifying. Employees were moving through the hallways and offices, but their movements were robotic, their expressions blank and vacant. They were like puppets, their strings being pulled by an unseen force.

"My God," Mr. Richards whispered, his voice filled with horror. "What's happening to them?"

"It's the mind control device," Sam said, his voice grim. "It's not just affecting the sixth floor anymore. It's affecting everyone."

He noticed a screen showing the sixth floor. The employees there were performing repetitive actions, something that screamed of being clearly a ritual.

"We need to stop this," Sam said, his voice filled with determination and a hint of fear. "We need to find that device and shut it down."