Page 116 of Whispers in the Dark
Paul glanced at the monitor. “Not as much as what’s already been done to him.”
Tristan injected the red-capped med slowly into the subdermal space. Alex convulsed violently—his back arched, a hoarse, strangled gasp ripping from his throat.
Paul moved to hold him down.
Tristan begged, “C’mon, Alex.”
Alex’s body shook, then stilled. The second hand on the clock seemed to tick. The wait began.
Forty-five minutes in, the thermometer began to register a slow drop in temperature. “Fever’s breaking,” Paul confirmed. “We’re getting somewhere.”
Two hours later, Alex’s breath changed and stuttered, shallow and wet. “Pulmonary congestion,” Tristan said. “Blue cap. Now.”
“Send a sample to microbiology for testing,” Paul ordered as he handed Tristan the prepped syringe from the blue cap.
Tristan injected it into the IV port. The effect was almost immediate—Alex’s chest heaved, and he coughed violently, spitting up thick, purulent fluid.
Charlotte, still watching, jumped and covered her mouth.
“Lungs clearing,” Paul said. “Oxygen saturation’s rising.”
“Green cap. Have Ativan prepped and ready.” Tristan injected the med.
One minute later, Alex went into a continuous violent seizure. After multiple doses of Ativan, the seizures finally stopped. They needed fifty minutes for this.
Tristan looked at the monitor. “We’ve bought time.”
“But he’s not waking up,” Paul said, frowning.
“I don’t expect him to.” The nurse showed Tristan the bloodwork results. “Type and cross for four units. Increase the ringers to 200 cc per hour. Page pulmonary and renal. Where the hell is James?”
“He’s finishing a case in the OR,” another nurse said.
When the infusion from the green cap was completed, Tristan reached for the yellow-capped vial. “This one brings him to the surface.”
Paul looked wary. “Or unleashes whatever they locked inside him.”
“We’ll guide him through it.”
The facility was bedlam.Monroe was furious that Elias had stolen Alex Marcel. She called for an immediate lockdown.
After a quick physical examination, Monroe believed Sybil’s story that Elias sedated her to make his escape. Upon awakening and passing Monroe’s suspicions, Sybil insisted on checking the subjects. She told Monroe she was worried Elias had sabotaged Monroe’s program.
Sybil walked fast—very fast—to escape Monroe’s searching eyes. Her heels struck the floor like gunshots. She rounded a corner and checked the cameras. The upper hallway was clear.
She ducked into a recessed door labeled ARCHIVE 2B – RESTRICTED. Inside was dark. Motion sensor lights flickeredon. Old, forgotten data modules were stacked like grave markers.
She pulled her ID badge, then a second keycard, one Gideon gave her after Charlotte Everhart started to follow his trail. One she was never supposed to have. Monroe, you think no one’s watching. But I watched. Every line of code you altered. Every signature you forged. Every patient you buried beneath jargon and compliance forms.
She opened a panel and plugged in her secure tablet. The screen flashed to life. Gideon had created a back door to access the entire program. With Monroe in charge, the back door gave her proof of every protocol violation she committed.
ACCESSING: WARD, GIDEON–SUB-PROTOCOL: CASCADE / PHASE IV
She scrolled fast. Neural override mapping. Shock reinforcement patterns. Then she saw it—Monroe’s private encryption tied directly to the spinal implant interface. She growled.
She’s controlling real-time modulation. That’s not oversight. That’s remote puppetry.
Sybil pulled a drive from her lab coat pocket and downloaded everything. Every dirty signature. Every failure Monroe kept quiet about. You wanted Alex Marcel compliant. But you made a mistake, Monroe. You let someone who still believes in conscience inside your walls. Thank you, Elias.
