Forced evolution 2 a lit.., p.42
Forced Evolution 2: A LitRPG Adventure, page 42
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. Check my house. You’ll find the ashes.”
“Convenient.”
“Detective.” Elena’s voice delivered warning. “My client has admitted to taking files he believed showed wrongdoing. He’s explained their destruction. Unless you have evidence otherwise—”
“I have a dead witness.”
“What?”
“Not dead. Sorry. Future tense. Give it a week. Maybe two. Then Dr. Webb here has an accident. Car crash. Robbery gone wrong. Maybe he hangs himself in his garage.”
Webb went white. Elena’s pen scratched across paper.
“Are you threatening my client?”
“I’m explaining reality. BioNova doesn’t do retirement parties for snitches.”
“Then perhaps you should offer protection.”
“With what budget? We can’t even keep the lights on past six.”
Elena gathered her papers. “Then we’re done here. Dr. Webb, you’re free to go.”
“Like hell he is.”
“Charge him or release him. Those are your options.”
Mitsuki wanted to put her fist through the wall. Instead, she stood. “Twenty-four hours. That’s how long before I get a warrant.”
“For what? Ashes?”
“For everything. His house. His office. His goddamn underwear drawer.”
Elena guided Webb toward the door. “We’ll be ready.”
They left, the door clicked shut, and Mitsuki remained in the empty room, counting ceiling tiles. Forty-three. Same as always. Webb’s coffee cup left a wet ring on the metal table. Third ring from the left, overlapping with countless others from previous interviews.
Her phone buzzed. Text from an unknown number:
Unknown: Check your car.
No sender ID. No context.
The hallway stretched empty. Officers on lunch break. Even the desk sergeant had abandoned his post for the vending machines. With the sound of her shoes hitting concrete and shadows gathering between the pillars, she made her way to the car.
She found the envelope under her wiper blade, no name, no address, just a flash drive wrapped in plastic.
Someone had walked into a secured police parking garage. Someone had known which car belonged to Detective Mitsuki Yamada. Someone had timed this perfectly.
It didn’t take her long to get back upstairs.
Back at her desk, she plugged it in. Files opened. Dozens of them. Trial data. Subject profiles. A folder labeled “Termination Protocols.”
Inside: names. Addresses. Photos.
All from BioNova’s servers.
All timestamped this morning.
Webb’s face stared back from the third file.
“Shit.”
She grabbed her keys. Webb’s house was twenty minutes away. Fifteen if she hit the sirens.
First intersection: Red light.
Second intersection: construction crew scrambling to move equipment.
The speedometer climbed past sixty on Madison Avenue.
Seventy on the straightaway past the industrial district.
She made it in twelve.
The front door stood open. Neighbors gathered on the lawn, whispering behind their hands. Two patrol cars blocked the driveway.
“What happened?”
The uniform looked twelve. “Suicide. Neighbor found him an hour ago.”
“How?”
“Hanging. In the garage. Left a note.”
Mitsuki pushed past him. The garage smelled like motor oil and death. Webb’s body swayed from a beam, face purple, eyes bulging.
Too neat. Rope tied with professional knots. Ladder kicked over at the perfect angle. Note on the workbench, typed and printed.
I’m sorry. The guilt was too much. I lied about everything.
“Get this scene processed,” she told the uniform. “I want every inch photographed.”
“Ma’am, it’s pretty clear—”
“Nothing’s clear. Do your job.” She looked him over. “Name and badge number.”
He gave it.
“I’ll hit you up in two hours. If anything’s missing, you’re coming back out here to redo it.”
She left them to it. Walked through Webb’s house. Everything in its place. No signs of struggle. Fireplace cold and clean.
Her phone rang. Elena.
“I just heard. Matthew is—”
“Dead. Yeah. Convenient timing.”
“You think I had something to do with this?”
“Did you?”
Silence. Then: “I tried to help him.”
“By showing up at my interview?”
“By giving him options.”
“What options? He’s hanging from a rafter.”
“Are you sure about that?”
The line went dead. Mitsuki stared at her phone. What the hell did that mean? she asked herself as the seatbelt went across her body.
She drove back to the station. Officers streamed through the lobby, trading stories about lunch spots and complaining about paperwork. Normal sounds. Normal day. Except for the flash drive burning a hole through her jacket.
Detective Mitsuki Yamada landed on her chair. Pulled up the device again. Started cross-referencing.
The files were real. Had to be. Too detailed to fake. But Webb’s access logs showed nothing. Like he’d never touched the system.
Someone had given her these files. Someone with better access than Webb.
Someone who wanted BioNova investigated but couldn’t come forward.
Someone who needed Webb to disappear.
“Son of a bitch.”
She opened the suicide scene photos. Good, officer Lovelice had delivered.
The detective studied every angle… there. Behind the water heater. A shadow that didn’t belong.
Zoom in. Enhance. Zoom again.
A shoe print. Small. Women’s size seven, maybe eight.
Webb wore size eleven.
Her desk phone rang. The captain.
“Yamada. Drop the BioNova thing.”
“Sir?”
“Webb killed himself. Case closed.”
“The evidence suggests—”
“I don’t care what it suggests. EDA called. We’re off this one.”
“Since when do we answer to—”
“Since they threatened to pull our funding. Drop it.”
The line clicked off.
Mitsuki sat in her empty office. Stared at the files. At the shoe print. At the typed suicide note with perfect margins.
Webb was dead. Or “dead.” Hidden or protected or relocated.
And Elena Rodriguez, advocate for enhanced individuals, had been in that garage.
She deleted the files. Wrote up her report. Suicide. Case closed.
But she kept the flash drive. Tucked it in her pocket next to her badge.
Twenty-three percent mortality rate.
Someone wanted her to know that. Someone who’d risked everything to get her proof.
The game wasn’t over.
It was just beginning.
Elsewhere IV: Side Effects
The ceiling tiles had water stains. Brown rings inside brown rings, like tree rings counting years of neglect. Subject 47 counted them again. Sixteen. Same as yesterday. Same as the day before.
“Can you hear me?”
White coat. Clipboard. Same questions.
“Yes.”
“State your designation.”
“Subject 47.”
“Good. And your name?”
A pause. The name floated somewhere just out of reach. Like trying to grab smoke.
“I... I don’t...”
“That’s normal. The treatments can cause temporary disorientation.” The white coat made notes. Always notes. “Do you know where you are?”
“Medical.”
“Which medical facility?”
Another gap. The walls were green. Industrial green. Military green. But which base? Which state? The memories slipped away like water through fingers.
“I don’t know.”
“Also normal.” More scratching on the clipboard. “Let’s check your vitals.”
Cold stethoscope on skin. Blood pressure cuff squeezing. Penlight in the eyes. The routine. Subject 47 knew the routine.
“When did the episodes start?”
“Tuesday.”
“Which Tuesday?”
Time meant nothing here. Days bled together. Treatments. Tests. Sleep. Repeat.
“I don’t know.”
“Can you describe the episodes?”
“Heat. Everything burns. Then...” Subject 47 flexed fingers, watching the skin ripple. “Then it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“The pain nullification kicked in?”
“No. Something else. Like the heat became part of me.”
The white coat leaned forward. “Show me.”
Subject 47 held out a hand. Concentrated. The air shimmered. Temperature spiked twenty degrees in seconds. The plastic cup on the bedside table started to warp.
“Excellent. You’re progressing faster than expected.”
“Expected by who?”
“That’s not your concern.” The white coat stood. “We’ll increase the dosage tomorrow.”
“No.”
The white coat paused at the door. “Excuse me?”
“I said no. I want answers first.”
“You’re in no place to ask for anything.”
“Aren’t I?” The air grew hotter, paint bubbled on the wall. “What happens if I say no to everything? What happens to your data then?”
Two guards blocked the entrance. Blue electricity crackled from their batons. Subject 47 had seen those before. Felt them.
“Don’t make this difficult.”
“Too late for that.”
The first guard moved. Subject 47 moved faster. Heat burst outward in a wave. The guard screamed, dropping his baton as his gloves melted. The second guard swung. Subject 47 caught the baton bare-handed. The electricity should have dropped anyone. Instead, it just tickled.
“Interesting.” Subject 47 studied the sparking weapon. “That used to hurt.”
The white coat backed to the wall. “Security to Ward 7. Code Black.”
“They won’t make it in time.”
“What do you want?”
“My name. My real name.”
“I can’t—”
The temperature jumped another ten degrees. Smoke detectors shrieked. Sprinklers kicked on, but the water evaporated before it hit the floor.
***
Blood dripped from the ceiling. Fat drops that hit the linoleum with wet splats. Elena stood in the doorway, counting.
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three—
“I can’t make it stop.”
Carla Winters sat in the corner, knees pulled to her chest. Twenty-six years old. Former BioNova trial participant. Current disaster.
“When did it start?”
“This morning. I sneezed and then...” She gestured at the ceiling. “It’s not mine.”
Elena stepped inside, careful to avoid the puddles. “Whose is it?”
“I’ve got no idea. That’s the problem.”
The apartment reeked of copper and sweat and ammonia and terror. Furniture shoved against walls. Windows covered with aluminum foil. Standard paranoia setup, except for the blood. That was new.
“Show me.”
Carla held out her hand. Skin split along the palm, precise as a scalpel cut. Blood welled up. Then lifted. Defying gravity, it rose toward the ceiling and merged with the rest.
“Does it hurt?”
“Like dying. Every time.”
Elena pulled out her phone. Started recording. “How often?”
“Hourly. Sometimes more.”
“Any triggers?”
“Stress. Anger. Tuesday.”
“Tuesday?”
“Joke. Bad one.” Carla laughed. No humor in it. “Doc said the treatment would help. Make the symptoms manageable.”
“Which doctor?”
“Reeves. Two months ago. Special program for early trial subjects.”
Elena’s stomach dropped. “What kind of program?”
“Stabilization therapy. That’s what he called it.” Carla’s hand split again. More blood joined the ceiling. “Stable as a fucking time bomb.”
“We need to get you to a hospital.”
“No. No hospitals. They’ll send me back.”
“Back where?”
“BioNova. The underground labs. Where they keep the failures.”
Elena had heard rumors. Never proof. “How many others?”
“Dozens. Maybe more. Hard to count when people keep disappearing.”
Blood dripped on Elena’s shoulder. She fought the urge to run.
“I can help you. But not here.”
“Where then?”
“Somewhere safe. Pack what you need.”
Carla stood. Swayed. Caught herself against the wall. “What about the mess?”
Elena looked at the ceiling. At the defiant blood that wouldn’t stop falling.
“Leave it. Let them wonder.”
***
Mitsuki stood in BioNova’s lab, surrounded by nothing.
No broken glass. No forced locks. No fingerprints. Just empty space where equipment should be and security cameras that showed static from 2:17 to 2:25 AM.
“Eight minutes.” She turned to the security chief. “Your entire system went down for eight minutes?”
“Simultaneous failure across all sectors.”
“That’s not a failure. That’s an attack.”
He shifted his weight. “Nothing was taken.”
“Then why break in?”
“Kids maybe? Activists?”
Mitsuki tongued her cheek. “Kids who can kill a military-grade security system?”
“It’s been a weird year.”
Fair point. She walked the lab again. Counted steps. Measured angles. Everything too clean. Too perfect.
Like someone wanted it found.
“I need the basement access logs.”
“The basement’s restricted.”
“I have a warrant.”
“For the lab. Not the whole building.”
“The lab includes—”
“The lab is floors fifteen through eighteen. Period.”
Corporate lawyers. Mitsuki wanted to arrest someone just for the satisfaction.
“Fine. But I want a tech team here in an hour.”
“For what? There’s no evidence.”
“Exactly.”
She left him sputtering and took the stairs. Better than sharing an elevator with security goons. Sixteen flights down, her legs burned and her shirt stuck to her back.
The parking garage was empty except for executive cars and one maintenance van. She walked between them, checking plates out of habit.
Her phone buzzed. Text from Evidence: Uploading Webb files now.
She’d turned those in yesterday. Why were they just processing them?
Another buzz:
Unknown: Floor fifteen unlocked. Ten minutes.
Not from Evidence. The same person who had given her the flash drive?
Mitsuki deleted the text. Checked her watch. Headed back to the stairwell.
Floor fifteen was research labs. Darker than the main floors. Half the lights off to save money. She tried the door. Locked.
Waited.
At exactly ten minutes, the lock clicked.
She pushed through. Emergency lighting cast red shadows on the walls. Down the hall, a door stood open.
Too easy. Too obvious. Too suspicious.
But she went anyway.
The lab looked like a tornado hit it. Equipment scattered. Papers everywhere. One wall splattered with something dark that might have been blood.
Or coffee. Hard to tell in the red light.
She photographed everything. Bagged what she could. Found a data stick under an overturned table, still warm.
Footsteps in the hall. She pocketed the drive and stepped out.
“Lost?”
Security. Three of them. Hands on their tasers. They wore black polos with the BioNova logo on the chest, cargo pants, and steel-toe boots. Earpieces in, buzz cuts, no smiles.
“Following up on the break-in. Door was open.”
“This floor’s restricted.”
“Warrant covers the entire lab section.”
“No. It doesn’t.”
They moved closer. She shifted her weight, hands loose.
“Call your boss. Clear this up.”
“Or you could leave. Now.”
The middle one smiled. Missing teeth. “Your choice, detective.”
She counted exits. One door. Three guards. Bad math.
“I’ll go.”
They parted just enough to let her pass. She felt their eyes all the way to the elevator.
In her car, she plugged in the data stick. Password protected. Of course.
But the file names were visible. And one made her blood freeze.
Trial 47 - Lupine DNA Integration
Animal testing data.
***
Elena sat in her sedan outside the safe house, watching Carla sleep in the backseat. The bleeding had stopped. Small mercy.
Her phone chimed. Encrypted message.
Unknown: Check your email. Delete after reading. -A.P.
She opened the secure app. One message. No subject.
Video file. She hit play.
Cages filled the screen. Lab lighting. Something moving inside. Not rats. Too big. Wrong shape.
The camera zoomed. Elena’s hand flew to her mouth.
Dogs. Were dogs. Now... something else. Too many legs. Joints bending wrong. One turned toward the camera and she saw its eyes.
Human eyes.
Text overlay appeared: Phase 3 trials. Lupine subjects show 83% integration rate. Cognitive function retained. Recommend progression to human trials.
The video cut to another room. Operating table. Restraints. A figure in surgical scrubs leaning over—
She shut it off. Deleted the file. Sat in the dark trying not to vomit.
Carla stirred in the back. “Bad dreams?”
“Something like that.”
“Want to share?”
“No.”
“Yeah. Me neither.” Carla sat up. “This place safe?”
“Safe enough.”
“Nothing’s safe enough. Not from them.”
Elena started the engine. “We’ll see about that.”
