Chapter 4: The Test
Reddington's POV: In a hidden safehouse, Raymond Reddington sipped scotch, watching a grainy feed of an abandoned psychiatric hospital. The place was perfect—remote, unsettling, a stage for nerve and ingenuity. Toney, the anomaly, was inside, navigating Red's traps. "A quick study," Red murmured, his voice rich, amused. "But whose side are you on, my friend?" He'd planted the drive, knowing the Syndicate would sniff it out. Toney's survival was a puzzle, one Red was eager to solve.
The hospital loomed over Toney, its cracked facade choked with ivy, broken windows howling with wind. The air was thick with decay and an unnatural weight, setting his nerves on edge. Five cryptic messages had appeared on his InfoGrid HUD, their origin unclear but intent sharp: a test, likely from Reddington.
Toney's boots crunched on shattered glass as he stepped inside, darkness swallowing him. The system's sensors flickered, overwhelmed by the chaos—electrical hums, dripping water, an oppressive energy. His pulse quickened, breath shallow. This was a trap to break him.
Orlov's POV: Orlov stood on a rooftop overlooking the hospital, scope trained on the entrance. Toney was inside, and she'd let him, curious to see his next move. Sarah's intel had tracked him here, but the Syndicate's orders were clear: kill. His tech, his instincts—they weren't human. "What are you?" she muttered, her accent thick. A shadow moved near the hospital—not Toney, someone else. Her scope lingered. The game was shifting, and she didn't like it.
Toney moved through dark corridors, the system highlighting paths past collapsed beams and wires. The messages were a puzzle—random words decrypted to point here. Toney's mind raced, piecing together Red's game. The man was testing his nerve, his wits, maybe his sanity. The air grew colder, the smell of mold and rust sharper.
A creak echoed from a side room. Toney froze, hand on a scavenged knife. The system flagged a wooden chair in the center, paint chipped, legs uneven.
Sarah's POV: In the war room, Sarah Kline's fingers flew across her keyboard, sending Orlov Toney's exact coordinates in the hospital. The Syndicate was impatient, and her latest message confirmed his tech was disrupting their systems. Her heart pounded as Liz passed by, her eyes sharp with suspicion. Sarah's betrayal was a tightrope—if Toney's hacks exposed her, or if Cooper noticed her nerves, she was done. She sent a final update: "Target's disarming traps. Move now."
Toney's breath hitched. The chair looked harmless, but the system's warning was clear. He circled it, spotting pressure plates under the floorboards. A trap to immobilize, maybe kill. He knelt, the system guiding his hands to disable it, sweat beading on his forehead. The click echoed like a gunshot.
Toney pried open a panel, wood splintering, revealing a safe. Inside was a flash drive, scuffed but intact. He plugged it into a portable device, the system scanning.
Red's voice crackled, smooth, deliberate: "Well done, my friend. You've passed the first test. Find me at these coordinates. Don't dawdle—the Syndicate doesn't like loose ends." Toney's heart raced. Red knew him. The virus—Syndicate, planted long ago—gnawed at him. How deep was their reach?
A pain lanced through Toney's temples, the interface stuttering, colors flickering. "Not now," he muttered, forcing focus. He pocketed the drive and moved toward the exit, the hospital's weight lingering in his bones. Shadows seemed to shift, the air heavier. Was it the place, or the system failing?
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