Sublevel 3, entrance to the secret garage.
The heavy titanium-alloy blast door slid shut under hydraulic pressure. A series of muffled clicks rang out as the mechanical deadbolts engaged, and the indicator lights on the door control panel flipped from glaring red to safe green.
Frederic Downing clutched the silver-white briefcase to his chest and slid down the door to the floor, boneless with exhaustion. He gasped for air in great heaving breaths, the eyes behind his wire-rimmed glasses wild with the euphoria of a man who had just cheated death.
Inside the briefcase were WilPharma's most critical research data and virus samples. That was his entire stake for the rest of his life.
When he had watched on the monitors as Jill seized control of the building's systems and slammed every last door down, yes, he had panicked. But now he had fallen back to WilPharma's most impregnable stronghold. This blast door, fifty centimeters of titanium alloy, was built to withstand aerial bombardment. Without his iris authorization, even a full engineering crew would need days and nights to cut through.
Downing braced a hand on the wall and pushed himself upright. He straightened his rumpled suit and turned toward his car.
On the phone screen, Ryan was walking Jill unhurriedly down the corridor. The young man had his hands in the pockets of his trench coat, strolling as if through a garden, and the sight of it sent a flicker of irritation through Downing. He chalked it up to bluster. A cornered animal's bluff.
Downing hit the transmit button on the internal PA. His voice slid back into the arrogant, unflappable register of a senior executive.
"Mr. Ryan, I'm afraid you're a step too slow."
He watched Ryan stop outside the door, and a cold, self-satisfied smile curled at his mouth.
"I'll grant you that you're sharp, and your hacking is impressive. You backed me into a corner. But you seem to have forgotten where you are. This is WilPharma ground. That door would take barely a scratch from C4. You don't have heavy weapons. You aren't getting in. So, game over. Goodbye."
Outside the door, Ryan listened to the taunting over the PA in silence. He didn't even glance up at the camera. He just turned his head slightly and murmured to Jill.
"Step back a bit. Don't want dust on your clothes."
Jill shrugged and obediently retreated ten-odd meters with the tablet, a look of pitying anticipation in her eyes like someone settling in for a good show.
Inside the garage, Downing frowned at the screen. He didn't understand why the woman was backing away. Still less did he understand why Ryan showed not a trace of frustration.
"What's he doing? Giving up?" Downing snorted and was about to launch into another round of mockery.
Then he saw Ryan, on the screen, simply draw his right arm back and slowly close his five fingers into a fist.
Downing froze. What was this supposed to be? An impotent tantrum? Bare-handed venting?
The absurd thought had barely flashed through his mind when...
BOOM!!!
A concussive roar beyond description detonated in the enclosed underground space.
Downing felt the concrete floor buck beneath him like a wave. Every monitor blew into static in an instant. A tidal wave of kinetic force surged through the thick metal door and flung him through the air. He slammed down hard on the hood of the car behind him.
"Cough... what... what happened..."
Downing coughed up a mouthful of blood and lifted his head, vision swimming with stars. When he finally made out what was in front of him, the reason and common sense he had built his life on crumbled to dust.
That titanium-alloy blast door, the one a rocket launcher couldn't punch through, now bore a massive fist-shaped crater driven deep into its very center. The specialty steel plating around it was torn and twisted like a spiderweb. The thick hydraulic deadbolts flanking the doorframe had all snapped off, crushed by sheer brute force.
Before the scream could claw its way out of Downing's throat, a second dull impact sounded from outside.
THUD!!!
A savage side kick.
The already buckled blast door tore free of the wall entirely and came shrieking through the air into the garage.
Thick smoke and concrete dust filled the room.
Ryan, hands still in his trench coat pockets, stepped over the fallen door and the scattered rubble and walked unhurriedly into the vault he had just demolished. He brushed the dust off his shoulder, and his gaze settled on Downing, curled up beside a car wheel, too terrified to form words.
"Mr. Downing, what was it you were saying just now?"
Ryan walked over to the silver-white briefcase, bent down, and lifted it with one hand. He popped the latches, glanced inside long enough to confirm the data and the viruses were intact, then tossed it to Jill as she came through the door.
"Take this to Luis. Tell him it's new data for him. Have him run the parameters and see if he can bring the rejection rate on that serum in our lab down. The methodology's trash, but the brute-force trial data should still have some reference value."
Downing lay slumped on the floor, shaking uncontrollably. He looked up at the man standing over him, his voice rasping like sandpaper.
"You... what the hell are you..."
Ryan crouched down. There was nothing at all in those pitch-black eyes. "Since you personally orchestrated this whole mess, even WilPharma can't cover for you anymore. My lab happens to be short one live specimen with a thorough understanding of viral processes. Someone in your position ought to hold up a lot better than the average person."
"No... you can't..."
Downing scrambled backward in desperation, fumbling for the pocket pistol hidden inside his jacket. Ryan was faster by an order of magnitude. A clean knife-hand strike to the back of the neck, and Downing's eyes rolled back. He went out cold.
Just then, a short, piercing shriek echoed from the distant dome hall. That was the sound of G-V1 finally erupting inside Curtis, his genetic chain collapsing under forced recombination.
Ryan glanced at his watch, his tone flat.
"Four minutes, fifty-five seconds. Leon did alright this time. He's earning his paycheck."
He stood, straightened his collar, and smiled at Jill.
"We're done here. Tell the Shadow Force to come in and start hauling things out. Since Downing wanted to run, I might as well take over what's left of WilPharma's assets while we're at it."
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