Sometimes calm is nothing more than a brief pause before the storm.
On the outskirts of the dense forests of Oregon, where the trees begin to swallow the light with every step forward, a wide wooden house stood surrounded on all sides by towering pines.
It was the home of Dr. Adam Vale.
A child's laughter broke through the stillness of the morning.
"Dad! Hurry!"
Ten-year-old Ian Vale ran across the backyard, holding a small plastic microscope his father had given him for his last birthday.
His father followed at an unhurried pace, smiling.
"Science doesn't like rushing, Ian."
"But discoveries do!" the boy replied confidently.
Adam laughed and knelt beside him near the trunk of a massive tree.
"What did you find today?"
"A different ant… I think it's sick."
The father took the microscope, examined the tiny insect carefully, then looked at his son with eyes carrying both pride and something quieter... concern.
"It's not sick… it's stressed."
Ian frowned.
"Ants get stressed?"
"Every living thing feels something… even if we can't see it."
From the kitchen window, Laila Vale watched them while holding three-year-old Mira, who clapped her tiny hands every time her brother laughed.
The scene was perfect.
A scientist father.
A warm, steady mother.
Two children filling the air with life.
But beneath that calm…
there was a door in the floor of the house no one knew about.
Except Ian.
That evening, after Mira had fallen asleep, Ian sat on the steps leading to the basement.
He knew the signal.
Two soft knocks…
a pause…
then one.
The lower door opened slowly.
A faint chemical scent drifted upward.
"Come down... but don't touch anything."
Ian followed his father through the narrow corridor that led to a hidden room behind a sliding metal wall.
Inside were glass tables, test tubes, precision instruments, and small containers labeled with coded markings.
Ian approached one of the containers.
"What's this?"
Adam paused before answering.
"A message."
"From who?"
"From the body."
He turned on a small recording device and pressed a button.
Vital data appeared on the screen.
"This… is a sample extracted from a mouse exposed to danger."
"Real danger?"
"No… the feeling of danger."
Ian went quiet.
"Sometimes, my son… the feeling is stronger than reality."
Adam lifted a small vial containing a nearly invisible clear liquid.
"Inside this… is a high concentration of enzymes its body released when it believed it was about to die."
"What do you do with it?"
The father remained silent a moment too long.
"I'm trying to understand it."
Upstairs, the house phone rang.
When Adam climbed up, he exchanged a quick look with Laila.
"The company again?" she asked quietly.
"Yes."
"You told them the trials weren't finished."
"They don't care if they are."
Something unseen trembled in the air.
Ian didn't understand every word.
But he understood the tone.
The fear wasn't of the unknown.
It was of people his father knew.
That night, while the wind moved through the trees like a distant whisper, Adam sat alone in his laboratory.
He opened an encrypted digital file.
Title:
E.R.C – Emotional Response Catalysts
He moved slowly through the data.
At a file marked:
F-01
He typed a note:
"Fear can be extracted… and re-injected."
He stopped.
Looked at the framed photo of his family on the desk.
Then closed the file.
Outside… a black car stood motionless between the trees.
Its engine was off.
But someone was watching the house.