Ije didn’t move as we approached.
Rain slicked her hair to her skull, but her aim stayed steady.
“Vogel’s dead,” she repeated.
“But the board isn’t.
They’re in the vault.
Waiting.”
I kept my pistol trained on her.
“Why let us in?”
“Because I’m tired of running,” she said.
“And because I want to see them burn.”
She stepped aside.
The vault door stood behind her….reinforced steel, biometric lock, no visible hinges.
Rhea looked at me.
I nodded.
Rhea stepped forward.
Placed her palm on the scanner.
Green light.
The door hissed open.
Inside: a circular chamber, white walls, a single terminal in the center.
Five figures sat around it….men and women in tailored suits, faces calm, eyes dead.
Director Vogel wasn’t among them.
The woman in the center stood.
Silver hair, sharp cheekbones, a scar running from temple to jaw.
“Asset Mercer,” she said.
“We’ve been expecting you.”
I didn’t lower my pistol.
“Who are you?”
“Director Chen,” she said.
“AVG Global.
Acting chair.”
She gestured to the others.
“The board.”
I looked at Rhea.
She was pale, shaking.
“Where’s the kill-switch terminal?” I asked.
Chen smiled.
It didn’t reach her eyes.
“You’re looking at it.”
She pointed to the terminal.
A single screen.
A keypad.
A biometric scanner.
“Seven digits,” I said.
“And a carrier.”
Chen nodded.
“Correct.
Enter the code.
Place her hand on the scanner.
The network locks.
Phase Three stops.”
I looked at Rhea.
She met my eyes.
I knew what she was thinking.
What if it kills me?
I didn’t answer.
I just stepped forward.
“Give me the code,” I said.
Chen tilted her head.
“Why should we?”
“Because I have the only carrier,” I said.
“And because I’ll shoot her before I let you have her.”
Chen’s smile faded.
She reached into her jacket.
Pulled out a slip of paper.
Tossed it to me.
I caught it.
Seven digits.
3-8-1-4-7-2-9
I looked at Rhea.
She nodded.
I stepped to the terminal.
Entered the code.
The screen blinked.
“Carrier verification required,” it read.
I looked at Rhea.
She stepped forward.
Placed her hand on the scanner.
The screen flashed red.
“Verification failed,” it read.
I froze.
Chen laughed.
“Did you think it would be that easy?”
I turned to her.
“What did you do?”
“The code is correct,” she said.
“But the carrier isn’t.”
She pointed to Rhea.
“She’s not Carrier-001,” Chen said.
“She’s Carrier-002.”
I looked at Rhea.
She was pale.
Shaking.
“What?” I whispered.
Chen smiled.
“Lin Mei is Carrier-001.
Rhea Sato is Carrier-002.
You brought us the wrong key.”
“Where’s Lin?”
Chen tilted her head.
“Reykjavik.
Where you should have gone.”
I looked at Rhea.
She met my eyes.
And I knew
We’d been played.
Again
The vault door slammed shut behind us.
A heavy, hydraulic hiss.
Steel grinding into steel.
I turned.
Kicked it
Nothing
“Locked,” I said.
Chen’s voice came over the intercom, smooth as polished glass.
“Lockdown initiated.
Timer: 55 hours.”
I looked at the terminal.
The screen had changed.
A countdown glowed.
54:59:58.
Fifty-four hours.
Fifty-nine minutes.
Fifty-eight seconds.
Until cascade.
I turned back to Chen.
“Why lock us in?”
“Because I want to see what you’ll do,” she said.
“And because I want to see if she’s worth saving”
She pointed to Rhea.
Rhea didn’t flinch.
She just stood there, hands at her sides, eyes on the terminal.
“Carrier-002,” she whispered.
“What does that mean?
“It means you’re a backup,” I said.
“In case Lin failed.”
Rhea laughed.
It was hollow.
“I’m not a person.
I’m a plan B.”
I didn’t answer.
I just watched her.
At the rain.
At the dark.
At the timer
54:55:12.
“Can you activate the kill-switch?” I asked.
She shook her head.
“No.
Only Carrier-001 can.”
“Then we need Lin.”
She looked at me.
“Reykjavik.”
I nodded.
“Reykjavik.”
I turned to the board.
“Where’s the exit?”
Chen smiled.
“There is no exit.”
I raised my pistol.
“Then I’ll shoot you.”
She didn’t flinch.
“Go ahead.”
I didn’t fire.
I just lowered the pistol.
Turned.
Walked to the terminal.
“Rhea,” I said.
“Can you bypass it?”
She nodded.
“Yes.
But it’ll take time.”
“How much?”
“Six hours,” she said.
“Minimum.”
I looked at the timer.
54:50:00.
“Do it,” I said.
She nodded.
Started typing.
I sat by the door.
Pistol in hand.
Listening.
Waiting.
Watching
Three hours in, the lights flickered.
Then a voice over the intercom: “Asset Mercer.
Director Chen requests your presence in the observation deck.”
I looked at Rhea.
She didn’t stop typing.
“Don’t answer,” she whispered.
I raised the pistol.
Aimed at the speaker.
Fired.
It sparked.
Went silent. Find the original chapter at g.com.
But the voice returned.
“Asset Mercer.
You have five minutes.”
I looked at Rhea.
She looked at me.
And I knew
There was no choice
Only forward.
Into the fire.
The door hissed open.
Two tacticals waited outside.
Rifles raise.
“Follow us,” one said
I didn’t move.
“Or we shoot her,” the other said.
I looked at Rhea.
She nodded.
I followed.
The observation deck was above the vault.
A single room.
Glass walls.
A single chair.
Director Chen sat in it.
Smiling.
“Asset Mercer,” she said.
“Welcome.”
I didn’t sit.
“Where’s Lin?” I asked.
Chen tilted her head.
“Reykjavik.
As I said.”
“Why lie about Rhea?”
“Because I wanted to see if you’d notice,”
she said.
“And because I wanted to see how far you’d go.”
I raised the pistol.
“Where’s the real kill-switch?”
Chen laughed.
“There is no real kill-switch.”
I froze.
“What?”
“The code you have locks the network,” she said.
“But it doesn’t stop the vector.
The infected stay infected.
The carriers stay carriers.
I didn’t speak for a long time.
Then: “Why tell me this?”
“Because I want you to understand,” she said.
“There’s no stopping this.
Only surviving it.”
She stood.
Walked to the window.
Pointed to the city below.
Seattle burned.
Smoke.
Fire.
Death.
“This is the future,” she said.
“And you can’t stop it.”
I raised the pistol.
Aimed at her head.
“Then I’ll kill you.”
She smiled.
“Go ahead.”
I didn’t fire.
I just lowered the pistol.
Turned.
Walked away.
Back in the vault, Rhea was gone.
The terminal was dark.
A single message on the screen: “Gone to Reykjavik.
Follow me.”
I looked at the timer.
51:00:00.
Fifty-one hours.
Until cascade.
I grabbed the Ledger.
Ran.
Out the door.
Into the corridor.
Into the dark.
Toward the jet.
Toward Reykjavik.
Toward the end.
Cliffhanger: At the tarmac, the jet was gone.
In its place: a single van.
Engine idling.
Door open.
A note on the seat: “She’s already gone.
But you can still save her.
Drive.”
I looked at the note.
Then at the van.
And I knew.
There was no choice.
Only forward.
Into the fire.