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Chapter 50
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2025-05-19 15:04:32Chapter 50: The Red Room Returns
The facility was buried beneath an abandoned psychiatric hospital in the outskirts of Marlowe. Cold, metallic, and eerily silent. The only sound was the hum of generators buried beneath layers of concrete. Isla stood at the entrance to the Red Room, a door marked with faded letters and smeared fingerprints—as if the ghosts of its past occupants had tried to claw their way out.
She inhaled deeply. Her palms were sweaty despite the chill in the air. Her fingers brushed over the transmitter embedded in her collarbone, a tiny device Ethan had inserted the night before.
"You hearing me?" she whispered.
"Loud and clear," Ethan's voice came through the earpiece. "Christopher's tracking your position. Stay sharp."
She pushed the door open.
Inside, the Red Room was exactly as she'd feared: clean, clinical, and laced with hidden horrors. The walls were padded, but beneath the padding she saw the outlines of old restraints, bloodstains carefully painted over. In the center of the room was a single steel chair bolted to the floor.
Victor stood beside it.
He looked older. Time had carved deeper lines into his face, but his eyes burned with the same unnerving intensity. He held a tablet in one hand and a thin smile played on his lips.
"You came."
Isla didn't speak. Her footsteps echoed softly as she walked into the center of the room. Her eyes never left his.
"She would have hated this place," she said.
Victor tilted his head. "Lyra feared her own mind. But you… you embrace yours. You were always meant to surpass her."
"Is that what all of this was for? To create your perfect echo?"
He stepped closer. "Not an echo. A rebirth. A legacy."
"You don’t own me."
Victor chuckled, low and bitter. "Ownership was never the point. Influence, Isla. Control. You mistake the illusion of choice for freedom."
Isla circled him slowly. "I watched the tapes. All of them. She left you. Not because she was weak. But because she saw what you were."
Victor's face hardened. "She was confused. I loved her. And I love you. You are ours."
Isla’s voice cracked like ice. "You drugged her. Broke her. Tried to erase her. Is that love?"
"It was evolution."
"No. It was destruction."
She stopped just a foot away from him. Her hand brushed against her belt, where the syringe was hidden. "You want to rewrite me again, don't you? Turn on the Protocol, finish what you started."
"It would only take a moment," he whispered. "And you'd finally be at peace."
"You mean obedient."
He raised the tablet, finger hovering over the screen. "You have ten seconds before this room floods with gas. Comply, and we start again. Fight, and you die."
Isla smiled.
"Then you'll die with me. Because I injected myself with an agent that reacts to that gas. You turn it on, and I’m gone. Your legacy goes with me."
Victor hesitated. A flicker of doubt crossed his face.
She stepped closer, whispering into his ear. "She never wanted to be your creation. And neither do I."
She jammed the syringe into his side.
Victor staggered back, eyes wide. "What… what did you do?"
"A truth serum," she said. "Mixed with a paralytic. You won’t die. But you’ll talk. Every secret, every crime."
Victor collapsed into the steel chair.
The door burst open. Christopher and Ethan stormed in, guns drawn, scanning for threats.
Isla turned to them, eyes wet but triumphant.
"I have him. He’s ours now."
Victor, slumped in the chair, let out a soft, rueful laugh. "You are m
ore like her than I ever realized."
Isla leaned in. "That was the point."
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