The road to Ridgewood was long, unlit, and flanked by dying trees.
Margaret sat in the back of Verena's sedan, the flash drive clutched tightly in her hand, Clara beside her—silent but alert. None of them spoke for miles. The silence was not awkward. It was full. Tense. Heavy with what they were about to walk into.
Margaret broke it first.
"How bad is it inside?"
Verena didn't look away from the road. "Worse than you remember. It's not just a lab anymore—it's a system. A prison for minds. They don't just erase people now… they rewrite them."
Clara scoffed quietly. "What else is new?"
Verena glanced at Margaret in the rearview. "You'll be the only one in there they fear."
"Why?" Margaret asked, her voice dry.
Verena's lips tightened. "Because your programming failed. You remembered. You rebelled. That makes you a virus."
"And Kenneth?"
Verena sighed. "If they think he can expose the system, they'll do to him what they tried to do to you—strip him down, repurpose him, or bury him in silence."
Margaret looked out the window, heart hammering.
She wouldn't let that happen.
Not again.
---
They arrived just after 3:30 a.m.
Ridgewood was buried deep in the forest. From the outside, it looked like an abandoned research facility—chipped paint, rusted gates, security cameras that looked too old to work.
But Margaret knew better.
They parked behind a supply shed. Verena handed each of them an earpiece and a small syringe.
"Sedative?" Margaret asked.
Verena shook her head. "Antidote. They still use chemical fogging in the air vents—makes you suggestible. This'll counter it for a few hours."
Margaret injected herself without hesitation. So did Clara.
Verena handed Margaret a small device. "Once you find Kenneth, press this. It will disable the grid for sixty seconds. Just enough to get out."
Margaret stared at the front gate.
Her chest tightened.
Flashes hit her in waves—her younger self screaming, restrained. White corridors. Cold hands on her head. A voice whispering, "Forget. Forget. Forget."
Not this time.
She walked toward the entrance.
---
Inside, the building was unnaturally silent. Motion-triggered lights flickered on overhead as Margaret moved past a rusted reception desk and into the long corridor that once held her nightmares.
She passed rows of doors, some labeled with numbers, others with initials.
One door stopped her cold.
M-4
Her door.
Still here.
Still locked.
She almost opened it—but didn't. Not yet.
Clara's voice crackled through the earpiece. "East wing. Third sublevel. That's where they're keeping Kenneth."
Margaret moved fast now. Down a narrow stairwell, deeper into the belly of Ridgewood.
Everything smelled the same—bleach, dust, and sorrow.
She reached the sublevel. Long hallway. Flickering lights.
A red glow spilled out from under a door marked X-9.
She approached cautiously.
Inside was a large observation room.
And Kenneth.
Strapped to a chair.
Eyes closed. A mask covering his face. Monitors beeping softly behind him.
Margaret's breath caught. "Kenneth…"
She moved to the door, tried the handle.
Locked.
A figure moved in the corner of the room—back turned, dressed in surgical scrubs.
It wasn't Frank.
But the moment the man turned around, Margaret's knees nearly buckled.
It was Rosin.
Older. But unmistakable.
He looked up at the
camera in the corner of the room and smiled.
Then the overhead speaker buzzed to life.
"Welcome home, M-4."
Margaret's knuckles turned white as she gripped the locked door.
On the other side, Rosin stared directly at the camera.
> "Welcome home, M-4," his voice echoed again.
She stepped back, scanning the corridor for another entrance.
> "You don't have to break in," Rosin continued calmly. "You already belong here."
She ignored the taunt.
Her earpiece crackled—Verena's voice, urgent.
> "Don't engage him. That room is sealed by biometric lock. Find the access pad. It should be—"
"On the left side of the corridor," Rosin finished.
Margaret turned.
There it was. A handprint scanner embedded in the wall. Waiting.
> "It only responds to you," Rosin said. "M-4. That's why we brought Kenneth here."
Margaret's stomach flipped. "What are you talking about?"
Rosin's smile didn't falter. "Every experiment needs a control. You were the subject. He was the baseline."
Her breath caught.
> "No…" she whispered.
"Yes. You were designed to bond. To trust him. We monitored your friendship for years. Gave it direction. Kenneth was programmed to protect you. Until we tested your loyalty."
"You're lying."
He stepped forward, closer to Kenneth's unconscious form.
> "Did you ever ask why Kenneth always showed up when you broke down? Why he never pressed for too many details, yet always knew when to worry? That wasn't instinct. That was coding. He was triggered."
Margaret shook her head. "He didn't know."
"No," Rosin agreed. "Not until recently. The poor boy hacked a terminal in his apartment—he found part of his own log. That's why we brought him here. He's infected with self-awareness. He's broken. Just like you."
Margaret's heart shattered in a thousand directions. Her knees hit the floor.
It couldn't be true.
Not Kenneth.
Not her last thread of real connection.
> "You want to save him?" Rosin asked. "Unlock the door. Rejoin the system. And I'll give you both new lives."
She didn't answer.
Verena's voice cut in, low and furious.
> "Margaret, don't. That door is a trap. Once it scans your hand, it begins the reset process."
Rosin tilted his head toward the camera.
> "She has a choice. This was always about choice."
Margaret stood slowly.
She stared at Kenneth.
He looked so peaceful.
So broken.
Just like her.
She took a shaky breath, reached out… and placed her hand just above the scanner.
Then stopped.
"No," she said coldly.
> "I'm not your experiment anymore."
She yanked out the trigger Verena gave her and slammed it into the scanner slot instead.
The lights flickered.
Sirens wailed.
Rosin's face contorted for the first time.
Shock. Rage.
> "What did you do?!"
The door hissed. Unlocked.
Margaret kicked it open.
And walked in.
The door hissed open with a slow, metallic groan.
Margaret stepped into the room, eyes locked on Kenneth.
He was strapped to a reclined chair, electrodes attached to his temples, chest rising and falling shallowly. His skin was pale. Too pale.
But he was alive.
And beside him, standing with surgical gloves and a cold smile, was Dr. Rosin.
Up close, he looked worse than the video feed—his lab coat stained, eyes bloodshot, but his voice remained sharp, deliberate.
"Curiosity," he said softly, "that's always been your flaw, M-4. You just couldn't let sleeping memories lie."
Margaret kept her voice steady. "Let him go."
Rosin tilted his head. "And what will you give me in return?"
"Nothing," she spat. "This ends now."
He stepped back, raising his hands like a magician before the final trick.
"Oh, Margaret... you're still clinging to the fantasy that you were ever free. You think what we did to you was evil. But we gave you structure. You were chaos before us. A fractured mind. We gave you purpose."
"You gave me a prison," she snapped.
"Do you remember what happened the night you turned seventeen?" he asked gently.
Margaret stiffened.
"I—no."
"That's the point." Rosin smiled wider. "You attacked a classmate. Unprovoked. Broken glass. Broken bones. Your father didn't know what to do with you. So he handed you over to me."
Margaret's eyes flickered. A memory—blood. Screams. A girl's face, cut and crying.
"No," she said again, weaker.
"You were already unstable," he continued. "I just contained it. And Kenneth? He was the leash. The voice in your chaos that kept you from falling apart."
Margaret looked at Kenneth, unconscious but twitching slightly.
Rosin stepped closer to him.
"I can still fix this. One injection, and you forget again. Back to safety. Back to bliss."
Margaret's hand flew to the syringe in her jacket—Verena's emergency dose of adrenaline.
"Try it," she said through clenched teeth. "See what happens."
Rosin laughed.
"You're not brave. You're cornered."
"Wrong," she said, stepping forward.
"I'm awake."
Without another word, she lunged.
Rosin reached for the needle on the tray, but Margaret slammed the adrenaline shot into Kenneth's thigh first.
He gasped.
His eyes shot open.
Rosin moved fast—but not fast enough.
Margaret tackled him to the floor.
They struggled, his hand reaching for her throat, her nails digging into his wrist.
Kenneth—dazed, panting—ripped out the IVs and stumbled upright.
"Margaret—MOVE!"
She rolled aside just as Kenneth grabbed the nearby tray and smashed it into Rosin's face.
He collapsed.
Unmoving.
---
Margaret crawled to Kenneth, cupping his cheek.
"You're okay," she whispered.
He nodded weakly. "What… happened?"
"Long story. You were their backup plan. Their control variable."
He blinked. "I remember… I saw my name on a file."
"You weren't just watching me," she said softly. "You were programmed to."
"But not anymore," Kenneth said, voice stronger.
Margaret smiled faintly.
"No. Not anymore."
---
Clara's voice came over the earpiece.
> "Security just got triggered. You've got five minutes before this place locks down."
Margaret looked to Kenneth.
"Can you walk?"
H
e nodded.
She grabbed the flash drive, the uncut file, and Rosin's recorder from the desk.
And together, they ran.
The steel hallway echoed with each hurried step.
Margaret and Kenneth moved fast, breath ragged, adrenaline roaring in their veins. Behind them, alarms shrieked through Ridgewood's guts. Emergency lights pulsed red and white like the heartbeat of something monstrous.
Clara's voice hissed through the earpiece.
> "You've got less than three minutes. Exfil through the northwest stairwell. Verena's waiting by the rear fence."
They turned the next corner and hit the stairwell.
As they climbed, Kenneth stumbled.
Margaret grabbed his arm. "You okay?"
He nodded, jaw clenched. "Yeah. Just dizzy. But I'm not stopping."
The door at the top creaked open.
Fresh air hit Margaret's face like a slap. Cold. Clean. Free.
They emerged into the clearing behind the facility—moonlight casting sharp shadows across the overgrown lot.
Verena's grey sedan idled behind the chain-link fence.
Clara stood beside it, one hand on the gate, the other gripping a pistol.
Margaret's heart lifted. They made it.
Then she saw Clara's face.
It wasn't relief.
It was fear.
"RUN!" Clara shouted.
Too late.
A black SUV peeled out of the trees, tires screeching against gravel. Doors flew open.
Men in black poured out—armed. Tactical gear. Not Ridgewood staff.
Government-grade.
Verena screamed, "Get behind the car!"
Kenneth and Margaret dove behind the sedan as bullets tore through the silence.
Glass shattered. Metal shrieked.
Margaret grabbed Clara's fallen pistol and returned fire blindly, shielding Kenneth.
"This wasn't supposed to happen!" she shouted.
"They weren't supposed to know we were here!" Verena snapped, ducking beside her.
A figure stepped out from the SUV.
No mask.
No armor.
Just a black suit.
And a face Margaret hadn't seen in decades.
Older. Colder. Familiar.
Her heart stopped.
"…Dad?" she whispered.
Dr. Julian Harrow stepped forward, unfazed by the chaos.
The same eyes as hers.
The same hands.
"You shouldn't have come back here, Margaret," he said, voice calm.
Clara fired. Two of the agents dropped.
Verena shouted, "Get in the car—now!"
They dove into the sedan. Verena slammed the gas pedal, the tires screaming as they sped away into the woods. Bullets ricocheted off the rear bumper.
Margaret twisted in her seat, panting.
Her father's face still burned in her mind.
Kenneth looked at her. "Who the
hell was that?"
She swallowed.
"My father," she whispered.
"The one who sold me to them."