Sacrifice

Lucius escorted them to the front doors of the mansion without saying much, offering only a short farewell.

"I hope we meet again, Mr. Freeman."

Ethan met his eyes and gave a small nod. "I hope so too."

The two walked back to the car in silence.

Ethan started the engine and pulled away from the mansion without looking back.

Billy glanced over at him. "What are you planning to do next?"

Ethan kept his eyes on the road. "I'm going to try and get some information on this drug from a pharmacy in town."

They arrived in town shortly after. Ethan parked in front of an old building.

He turned off the engine, gripping the steering wheel slightly, deep in thought, then spoke without looking at Billy.

"Mr. Silas... stay in the car."

Billy looked puzzled but didn't protest. "Alright."

Ethan got out and walked into the pharmacy.

A soft chime rang as he pushed the door open. Inside, it was quiet.

An older man in a white lab coat sat behind the counter.

Ethan walked over and sat down silently across from him, eyes fixed on the amber vial in his hand.

The man was Dr. Phillips, a pharmacist who had run this store for nearly thirty years.

Ethan handed him the vial. Dr. Phillips studied it for a long moment before finally speaking.

"...Dysmoril?" he said softly, like he was reading the name for the first time.

He lifted the vial, inspecting the faded label carefully.

"Never seen this before. No registration number, no license information... just the company name."

He set the vial down.

"Calloway Therapeutics, you said?"

Ethan nodded.

"It looks like... a specialized drug?" Ethan asked.

"More than that," Dr. Phillips said slowly. "This looks like something experimental—something that slipped out of a lab, not something made for distribution."

Ethan frowned. "Do you know what it does?"

Dr. Phillips sighed. "Based on the label, it's a S.E.R.M.—Selective Estrogen Receptor Modulator. That means it affects sex hormones—estrogen and testosterone."

"In simple terms, it could alter someone's biology... in very deep ways."

He paused, squinting to read the fine print.

"And if you look closely, the warning mentions psychological effects."

"That tells me two things—one, it's dangerous. And two—it's never been properly tested."

Ethan sat in silence. The world outside faded into quiet.

He muttered to himself. "So... Calloway Therapeutics made this. And they never intended anyone outside to see it."

He thanked Dr. Phillips and left, a small note in his pocket.

It wasn't enough for a warrant—but it was enough to make a decision.

Afterward, Ethan got back in the car. Billy didn't speak. He knew the answers they wanted still hadn't come.

Ethan drove out of town, eyes on the road but mind echoing one word: Dysmoril.

"Where are you going now?" Billy asked quietly.

Ethan paused before answering.

"I'm going to apply for a job... at Calloway Therapeutics."

Billy turned to him, stunned. "What?"

"As a night-shift security guard. They're always hiring. If I can get in... I'll find out everything about that drug."

"But it's dange—"

"I know," Ethan cut in. He gave a faint smile, but his eyes were hard. "But I'm not just a broke detective anymore. I'm a father who lost his son. And these people might know something about the disappearances."

Billy didn't respond.

He knew the only way to find the truth was for Ethan to go inside.

They returned home in the evening.

Both were exhausted, overwhelmed by the day's discoveries.

Billy went straight to bed without a word.

Ethan brewed a large cup of strong coffee.

Then he sat down at the computer and spent hours in silence, searching for every piece of information he could find on Calloway Therapeutics.

He combed through every page of the company's website—even the ones buried deep in the menu.

Until finally...

He found a barely visible link:

[Apply to be a Security Guard]

He clicked without hesitation.

A simple form appeared.

He filled it out—using a fake name, fake age, fake medical history.

Even the phone number led to a pizza shop.

His finger hovered over the submit button, shaking slightly.

He knew entering that building meant putting himself in someone else's grip.

Someone he hadn't even met yet.

Still, he clicked it.

"Thank you for applying. Our team will contact you within 48 hours."

The room returned to silence.

Only the quiet hum of the computer fan remained.

And his heartbeat—faster than usual.

He reached for his phone, stared at it for a long moment.

Then he called Heather.

The next morning, Ethan woke to a notification.

A message from an unknown number:

"Mr. Hay—Please report to Calloway Therapeutics HQ by 10:00 a.m. today. Bring ID and one change of clothes."

No greeting. No name. Just an order.

He stared at it.

"...Faster than I thought."

He dressed quickly and grabbed the forged documents.

Then walked quietly to Billy's room.

The boy was fast asleep.

Unaware that someone in the house was about to disappear—for a while... or longer.

Ethan scribbled a note: "I'll be back tonight. Get yourself something to eat. I left money behind the fridge."

He left it on the bedside table.

Then stood silently, watching Billy sleep.

And walked out.

Calloway Therapeutics HQ was located in an industrial district half an hour outside town.

The building was tall, white, pristine. Everything looked clean. Safe.

Employees rushed around, all looking busy.

The front entrance was guarded by two security officers. Even staff had to scan two badges to get in.

Ethan wore a cap and sunglasses to obscure his face. He walked confidently to the reception desk.

"I'm here per the company's message. Applying for a night-shift security position."

The woman behind the counter checked a tablet, then nodded.

"Mr. Jonathan Hay, correct?"

"That's right."

"This way, please."

He was led to a temporary staff room.

While waiting, the door creaked open.

A man in a clean cream suit entered. Sharp eyes. A smile made to punch.

He sat down next to Ethan uninvited.

"Mr. Hay, I presume?"

"Yes?"

The man smiled. "Conrad Wellenheim. I'm in management here—at least from the outside."

He blinked slowly, intentionally awkward.

"Night-shift security, correct?"

"Correct," Ethan replied.

"Perfect. We've been needing someone like you."

Ethan hesitated. "So... I got the job?"

"Of course, Mr. Hay," Conrad said eagerly. "You can start immediately."

A staffer entered, handing him documents and a company ID badge. She briefly explained his duties.

Ethan wondered how they printed the badge so fast, but said nothing.

"You may begin work as per the schedule," the staffer said coldly.

Conrad patted Ethan's shoulder, preparing to leave.

Before stepping out, he turned and said, "I can't wait to have you on board, Mr. Hay."

Hard to tell if he meant it sincerely—or sinisterly.

Ethan just nodded.

Alone in the room.

—

Later that night, in the locker room, Ethan changed into a dark gray uniform bearing the company logo.

He patrolled quietly, eyes scanning carefully.

When sure no one was around...

He slipped into a blind spot in the security cameras.

And made his way to the document archives on the lowest floor.

He took out his ID badge.

Scanned it on the panel beside the steel door.

Beep. The door opened slowly.

Ethan stepped inside.

The room was filled with shelves and boxes of documents.

The air smelled of old paper and faint dampness.

He pulled out a flashlight, scanning each label carefully.

Then—he found it.

A red-labeled folder without a clear title.

He opened it quickly.

Some pages were blacked out. Others were marked.

But he saw enough:

"Test Group A: Ages 12–18" "Responses: Emotional instability, dissociative identity, fluctuating sexual response" "Recommendation: Use only when behavioral control or moral inhibition suppression is desired"

His hand trembled.

Before he could take pictures, a soft click sounded above.

A security camera turned—facing him.

He looked up, startled.

Before he could move—flick—the lights snapped on.

He turned. Too late to run.

The door opened slowly.

A man stood in the doorway, casually leaning.

Smirking like someone who never loses.

Conrad Wellenheim.

"Well, well... our new security guy is quite the explorer," he said with smug amusement.

He squinted. "You used a fake SSN, fake name... even your phone number leads to a pizza place."

"What should I call you? Hmm... Idiot sounds harsh. Let's go with moron."

Ethan gripped the folder tightly, trying not to show fear.

Conrad stepped closer—stopping just a pace away.

Without rush, he plucked the file from Ethan's hands.

He flipped through it.

"Ah... Dysmoril. The president's favorite."

Footsteps approached—two guards appeared at the door.

Conrad tilted his head, then leaned close.

Then abruptly pulled back with a laugh.

"Didn't you say you wanted to volunteer for another trial group, Mr. Hay?"

He turned to the guards.

"You heard that, right?"

"Yes, sir. Loud and clear." "Crystal," the guards chimed in unison.

Conrad turned back, grinning wider.

"Such bravery... I admire your sacrifice."

He clapped twice.

The guards moved in, each grabbing one of Ethan's arms.

He struggled.

"Don't touch me—"

Zzzzt!

The stun gun crackled.

Ethan's body seized.

He screamed briefly before collapsing.

His eyes drifted shut.

Darkness.

—

Ethan slowly opened his eyes.

His mind returned... sluggishly.

Dim light burned his vision.

The smell of antiseptic stung his nose.

And then—something wet touched his cheek.

Warm. Sticky.

He flinched in panic—but couldn't move.

He was strapped to a chair.

A soft laugh echoed beside his ear.

"Oh... you're finally awake."

The voice was male. Excited. Unhinged.

A stranger leaned into view.

A man in a bloodstained lab coat.

"I've been dying to play with you..."