The black vehicle hums steadily—VRRRMMM… VRRRMMM—its tires on the asphalt a low, constant rhythm. The lights are dim inside, casting muted shadows across the pale face of Serafin, whose chest rises and falls with shallow, uneven breaths—HAAH… HAAH….
"Status?" I demand, pressing my hand against his arm.
"Stable, for now," one of the medics replies without looking up, adjusting a monitor—BEEP… BEEP…—every pulse a fragile lifeline.
I swallow hard. "For now? That's terrifying."
"He's critical," the tactical officer interjects, voice low and deliberate. "Every movement counts."
I glance at him, fire in my chest. "Movement? You mean moving him to who knows where?"
The officer's gaze flicks away. "We're following protocol."
"Protocol," I spit, voice trembling. "He's barely alive. Do you know what protocol means when someone's this fragile?"
Silence.
I lean closer to Serafin, brushing a strand of hair from his sweat-matted forehead. "Hey," I whisper. "Stay with me. Please."
His fingers twitch weakly, curling around mine—CLENCH—barely holding. "Cao…" he murmurs. "Never… leave…"
"Never," I promise, voice breaking. "I'm not leaving."
The vehicle sways slightly—THUMP THUMP—as it takes a curve too sharply, tossing Serafin against the straps. "Watch him!" I shout.
The medic barely flinches, adjusting the harness—CLICK—while the officer mutters something under his breath. "Handle it."
I tighten my grip on Serafin. "He's not a package!" I bark. "He's alive, and he's human!"
One of the medics finally looks at me, eyes sharp. "You need to calm down or we can't keep him stable."
I gawk. "Calm? I've been calm through nearly dying, nearly losing him, and nearly getting us both killed. You think I'll be calm now?"
The tactical officer steps closer, voice measured. "Emotion compromises efficiency."
I glare. "Emotion is the only thing keeping him alive!"
Serafin groans—GROAN—his fingers weakly clutching my hand. "Cao…" he rasps. "Shh… it's okay…"
I shake my head, pressing my forehead against his. "No, it's not okay. I won't let it be okay."
The vehicle hums along the highway—VRRRMMM… VRRRMMM—the night outside pitch black, dotted only by faint glimmers of distant streetlights—FLASH—passing like warnings.
"Where are we going?" I demand, leaning toward the tactical officer. "What facility? Name? Location?"
He doesn't answer. Just tilts his head. "You'll know when it's necessary."
My heart tightens. "Necessary for what? To make him disappear again?"
"That's not—" the officer starts, but a sharp beep interrupts him—BEEP—from the monitor. Serafin's chest tightens, his breathing stuttering—HAAH… HAAH….
"Shit!" I shout. "What now?"
One medic injects something—HISS—while the other adjusts the straps.
"He's stabilizing," the first medic mutters.
"For now," I repeat, glaring at them. "For now isn't good enough."
The officer sighs. "Your presence is… complicating matters."
I glare. "My presence is the only reason he's alive."
The vehicle turns sharply—THUMP—throwing me sideways. I catch myself against the wall, clutching Serafin, whose head lolls dangerously.
"Careful!" I snap. "Do you have any idea what you're doing?"
The driver murmurs something under his breath—GRRRRMMM—and I realize we're no longer on any familiar route. The asphalt outside is uneven, lined with guard rails and shadows that seem to stretch like fingers.
Another sharp turn—SCREEECH—and the tactical officer finally steps back. "We're almost there."
I glance at him. "Almost where? Because last time, 'almost' meant someone else was waiting to take him from me."
"Not this time," he says simply. His voice is calm but firm, almost like a promise.
I swallow, though nothing in me trusts him. "I don't care what you call it. If you touch him—"
"Then you'll regret it," he cuts in, calm but dangerous.
Serafin whimpers—HNNG—weakly clutching my hand.
"Shh," I whisper. "I've got you. I won't let go."
The vehicle slows—SCREEEETCH—lights up ahead cutting through the darkness like twin beacons. The dim glow reflects off a perimeter gate, tall and imposing.
"Facility," the officer announces. "Secure. We enter now."
I squeeze Serafin's hand. "Keep breathing. Stay with me."
The medics lift him carefully—THUMP… CLACK—and I move with them, shoulder brushing his side. Every step is tense, the echo of our movement in the metal corridor—CLACK CLACK—reverberating around us.
The gate looms closer—CREAK—then slides open automatically—WHOOSH—swallowing the vehicle into the facility.
Inside, everything is unnervingly quiet. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead—BUZZZZ—casting sterile shadows across the hallway.
"Here," the tactical officer says. "He'll be stabilized further."
I tighten my grip on Serafin as medics carry him toward a room—THUMP THUMP CLACK—and I follow, unwilling to let go.
As the door closes—SLAM—the facility seems to swallow us whole. I glance back at the tactical officer. "Why me? Why do you need me here?"
He tilts his head slightly, voice low. "Because you're the variable they underestimated."
I frown. "Variable?"
"You," he says simply. "You're unpredictable."
My chest tightens. "That's supposed to reassure me?"
"Not at all," he replies.
I grip Serafin's hand, brushing the sweat from his brow. "Then I guess we're fucked. Together."
A soft monitor beep—BEEP… BEEP…—punctuates the room, fragile but insistent.
And as the doors lock behind us—CLICK—I realize one thing:
We've arrived.
But freedom? That's still a long way off.