Chapter 8: The Final Subject
Gunfire erupted upstairs.
The sound rolled through the facility like thunder.
Mason grabbed Rex's collar.
“This way.””
We ran.
Daniel stayed behind us while Bell covered the doorway.
I followed Mason through a narrow passage I'd never noticed before.
“Where are we going?””
“Underground.””
“What's down there?””
“The reason you're still alive.””
We reached a steel elevator.
Mason entered a six-digit code.
The doors opened.
Rex stepped inside.
I followed.
Daniel came next.
Bell stayed outside.
“You're coming,” Mason said.
Bell shook his head.
“Someone has to slow them down.””
“You won't survive.””
Bell smiled.
“I've already survived more than I deserved.””
The elevator doors closed.
As we descended, the gunfire became distant.
I looked at Mason.
“You said I was the final subject.””
He nodded.
“Subject Fourteen.””
“What happened to the other thirteen?””
“Most died.””
“And the survivors?””
“Two were institutionalized.””
“One disappeared.””
I stared at him.
“Who?””
Mason looked at Rex.
“Subject Fourteen was the only successful integration.””
I understood.
Me.
They hadn't simply experimented on soldiers.
They had created soldiers whose memories could be manipulated through conditioned cues.
Rex had been one of those cues.
My best friend had been part of it.
I looked at Mason.
“You knew.””
“Yes.””
“You watched them do this to me.””
His eyes filled with regret.
“I tried to stop them.””
“But you failed.””
“Yes.””
The elevator stopped.
The doors opened.
A massive underground complex stretched ahead.
Unlike the abandoned facility above, this place looked untouched.
Bright lights.
Clean walls.
Working cameras.
A row of glass rooms lined one side.
Inside each room was medical equipment.
And restraints.
Rex stopped.
His body went rigid.
I crouched beside him.
“You okay?””
He stared at the nearest room.
Then he began scratching the glass.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Mason whispered,
“That's where they trained him.””
I looked inside.
There was a metal table.
A drain in the floor.
And a small kennel.
Something inside me broke.
Rex suddenly whined.
I had never heard him make that sound.
I knelt.
“It's okay.””
He leaned into me.
Mason watched us.
Then he said:
“This is where the truth begins.””
We entered the room.
On the wall was a faded photograph.
Rex as a young dog.
Another dog beside him.
Shadow.
Between them stood Mason.
And beside Mason stood me.
I touched the photograph.
“I don't remember this.””
“You weren't supposed to.””
Mason pointed to the corner.
A date.
Six years before the convoy.
Then he pointed to another photograph.
Same room.
Same people.
Different day.
I saw myself smiling.
Actually smiling.
I was holding Rex's leash.
Mason was beside me.
There was no war.
No fear.
We looked like friends.
Brothers.
Then I noticed the person standing behind us.
Kane.
But he wasn't watching the dogs.
He was watching me.
Mason spoke quietly.
“You volunteered.””
I turned.
“For what?””
“The program.””
I shook my head.
“Why?””
“Because you believed you could use the training to help soldiers with trauma.””
I stared at him.
“That sounds like me.””
“It was.””
“What changed?””
“Mason found out they weren't treating trauma.””
“They were exploiting it.””
“Exactly.””
A door opened behind us.
Bell entered.
Blood stained his sleeve.
“They're here.””
Mason reached for his weapon.
“How many?””
“Too many.””
Bell looked at me.
“They're coming for you.””
I glanced toward the hallway.
“What happens if they get me?””
Mason answered.
“They'll finish the conditioning.””
“And then?””
“They'll turn you into the perfect asset.””
I felt my stomach turn.
“An assassin?””
“Something worse.””
Mason pointed toward the control room.
“You won't even know you're doing it.””
A gunshot echoed nearby.
Bell raised his weapon.
“Move.””
We ran.
The corridor split.
Rex suddenly pulled toward the left.
“Rex!””
He refused to turn.
Mason followed him.
“Trust him.””
The dog stopped beside a steel door.
There was no handle.
Only a fingerprint scanner.
I placed my hand against it.
The lock opened.
Inside was a small room.
One chair.
One monitor.
One file.
My name was printed on the front.
I opened it.
The first page was a medical report.
The second was a photograph.
The third made my knees weak.
It was a death certificate.
My name.
My date of death.
Six years ago.
Daniel looked over my shoulder.
“Oh God.””
Bell stared.
Mason closed his eyes.
“They reported you dead.””
“But I'm standing here.””
“Yes.””
“Why?””
Mason answered:
“Because everyone was supposed to believe Subject Fourteen died in the convoy.””
He pointed at the death certificate.
“Your old identity was erased.””
I looked at my hands.
“Then who am I?””
Mason stared at me.
“You're Andrew Hale.””
“That isn't what I asked.””
Silence.
Then Rex began barking.
Not at us.
At the monitor.
The screen had turned on.
A live video appeared.
Kane stood in a room somewhere else.
He looked straight into the camera.
“You've made it farther than expected.””
I stepped toward the screen.
“You did this.””
Kane smiled.
“No.””
He leaned closer.
“You did.””
Behind him, another figure appeared.
A man with gray hair.
A military uniform.
I recognized him immediately.
The commanding officer who had signed the report declaring Mason and me dead.
I thought he had retired years ago.
Kane placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Say hello to the man who started Sentinel.””
The older man looked into the camera.
Then said something that made every hair on my arms rise.
“Andrew, my son.””
I couldn't breathe.
Because I had seen that man's face before.
Not in military records.
Not in photographs.
In my own memories.
He was standing beside me the day I joined the service.
And he had called me something no commanding officer should ever call a recruit.
“Son.””
The lights went black.
May you like
A door slammed behind us.
And when the emergency lights returned, Mason was gone.
