Chapter 14

Chapter 14: Interference

Ira dropped from the shaft first, her landing quiet on the grated metal floor. Ishita followed a breath later, crouching beside her in the half-lit corridor. The air was cooler here, carrying the sterile scent of long-abandoned operations. This part of the facility was older, lined with disused servers and dusty medical modules, their indicator lights blinking like faint stars in a dying sky.

"This doesn't feel like any hospital wing," Ira murmured, rising slowly. Her hand brushed the nearby wall—it was colder than the rest of the facility. Reinforced. Buried deeper. A forgotten heart.

Ishita scanned their surroundings. "Definitely not standard. And there's no current on the local systems. Power here is being routed selectively."

They walked quietly, every footstep a muffled thud on the steel floor. The tunnel curved slightly, leading them into what looked like an observation gallery—glass-lined and overlooking something below.

Ira wiped the dust from the pane. What she saw made her step back.

Rows of suspended capsules, each containing a patient. Or something that had once been a patient.

Ishita leaned closer. "That's not cryo-sleep. That's cellular stasis. Experimental. Illegal."

Ira's stomach turned. The capsules weren't labeled with names—only numbers. Bed 12 wasn't here. But each pod was rigged to its own control panel, humming faintly.

"Why would they keep this hidden?" Ira asked.

"Because these aren't patients anymore," Ishita whispered. "They're data. Controlled conditions for long-term observation. This isn't medicine—it's preservation."

Suddenly, a soft static crackled in Ira's earpiece. Then a voice.

"Dr. Mehta. Dr. Chauhan. You're quite far from your wing."

Ira froze. The voice wasn't Menon's. It was distorted, almost synthetic.

"You've stepped into something you don't understand," the voice continued. "But you've been expected."

Ishita pulled out a small jammer, trying to mute the signal. But the voice persisted—hardwired into the corridor's own speakers.

"Leave now, and you might still walk out of here alive," it warned.

Ira glanced at Ishita. "He's watching us."

Ishita nodded grimly. "Let him. Maybe he'll slip."

They continued forward. A door sealed with biometric access stood at the end of the hall. Ishita examined it quickly. "We'll need a handprint—or a bypass. But this system looks older. If I can overload the sensor..."

"Do it," Ira urged.

Sparks flew as Ishita connected her toolset. The seconds stretched. The voice didn't return, but the hallway lights began to dim.

Then—a click.

The door slid open.

They stepped inside.

It was a circular chamber, stark white and humming with quiet energy. At the center was a table—surgical—and a single chair bolted to the floor beside it. Shackles.

Ira's breath caught. "This is a testing room."

Ishita stepped closer to the console. "Recently used." She tapped the screen, navigating quickly. "Encrypted logs... but the last entry was just hours ago. Bed 12 was here."

"Then where is he now?" Ira asked.

Behind them, the door hissed shut.

A new voice, colder and more human, filtered through the room's intercom.

"Right behind you, Doctor."

They spun.

A man stood at the other side of the glass divider that separated the room in two. No uniform. No mask. Calm eyes.

"Welcome to the heart of Geneva," he said, hands folded behind his back.

Ira's jaw clenched. "You're the one who warned us in the vent system."

He nodded. "I told you you weren't alone. You just didn't realize how not alone you were."

Ishita stepped forward. "Who are you?"

He smiled faintly. "Someone who's been here too long. But let's not waste time. You wanted answers. Let's see if you're ready for them."

The lights dimmed further, and behind the man, a new row of data screens came to life. Files. Medical logs. Names. Including one that made Ira's blood run cold:

Dr. Aanya Rao — Subject Zero.