His alarm woke him. No—not his alarm, the alarm. 

"Grab your rifle, and come with me."

Harsh orders came from his lead officer. He suited up and didn't bother to hoist his rifle behind his shoulder, keeping up with his other officers. His lead led them across the runway to a building he was unauthorized to enter. 

Russians? Chinese? If the most secure buildings in the world were under attack, those were his two guesses as to who could pull it off, regardless of who. He'd kill them.

His cool remained with his sight forward, but from what he could tell, it didn't seem much different than the other buildings. Except for the destination at a colossal elevator, unlike any he had ever seen, the officers lined up behind their lead without showing enthusiasm at the magnificent display of architecture.

To him, his lead officer was a good friend—poker, beer, and movie nights. But while in uniform, they didn't know each other. For them, their duty was all that mattered.

He found it odd that no alarms were going off.

"When I tell you to stop. Stop. Only continue if a death is witnessed or if she approaches you. It is an absolute last resort that we kill her." The lead officer opened the shaft, and they stepped in.

She?

The alert flashed erratically above the terminal with such authority the blind couldn't miss it. 

There's the alarm. He figured whatever happened down here stayed here, hence no alarms throughout the rest of the base.

The elevator looked more technical than anything he's seen during his tenure here. Optimal's logo shined off the metal and crystal clear displays behind the glass. The number kept counting up as they lowered.

He didn't know what was down here, but he swore to protect it, whatever it was, or who it was. The most advanced research was what they told him, and it was all he needed to know.

The doors opened up to an R&D paradise. Marble floors, high ceilings, tall glass windows, and a corridor that looked to be over a quarter of a mile long vanished into a point of singularity. Smoke flowed from broken windows, and authorized officers who witnessed the mayhem lay dead or groaned as they held on.

"Stay behind me," the lead said.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

He followed the lead's order, marched in unison, and stopped in unison. 

A flash of light bent around a deep hallway, and a chunk of the wall disappeared. It was a burst of light that had no origin and no destination.

He watched the lead hold up the freeze command, all under his control stopped, and heads remained forward. His lead walked ahead and peaked his head around the corner.

Voices echoed off the metal walls and high ceiling. A man's voice hurled expletives.

That's Mr. Furyk, he thought. The Mr. Furyk.

A woman responded. She was soft-spoken, cool-headed, and commanding. She scolded Mr. Furyk, threatening him and making demands. Mr. Furyk ordered her to reveal her technology and cease her behavior.

"Then watch the sky," the woman said clearly enough for all to hear, and there was a flash of white and purple light.

That was her. Everyone has heard the rumors topside. If they were true, he's glad she's American.

"Shit," Mr. Furyk's steps expressed his anger, and he marched closer to the officers, forcing them all to straighten up.

The lead officer faced away from the corner.

"Did you see that?" Mr. Furyk said.

"Yes, sir."

He watched Mr. Furyk lift his pistol and shoot the lead officer, his friend, in the head. By failing an order, he approached too far. He didn't flinch as the body hit the floor, and it took all he had not to. No one flinched.

"You are to return topside," Mr. Furyk ordered.

***

Turning a corner, he walked by an enormous floating cube, its flat surfaces reflecting everything off of it, a near-perfect mirror on all six sides rotating on one of its corners. Against the room's wall was a girl floating in midair with her head on her knees. Unlike the cube, she looked to be frozen. Amongst the mayhem, Mr. Furyk remained prim and proper in his suit and tie. The soles of his shoes echoed in perfect rhythm across the marble floor as he scanned the room.

Teresa. He walked to her. Few decisions in his life he's questioned, such as morality, judgment, and goals. All for the sake of serving his country, and he never questioned it. Bringing in Teresa was one of the decisions he second-guessed himself on.

She levitated a few feet off the ground in a skin-tight suit illuminating a wave of cascading colors. As her levitation changed, so did the color, primarily shades of purple. She was floating in a mental sea of self-doubt.

She buried her head further into her knees. "Mr. Furyk?"

"I'm here."

"How is she so far ahead?"

Those words shocked him—no comment on her colleagues or the surrounding mayhem. "I don't know."

"Did she get out?" Teresa asked.

"Yes. She's going back to her childhood home where I found her."

"She gets to stay there?"

"Yes. Or she'll end the world."

She leaned her head up. Her short brown hair covered glazed eyes, and most of her face was covered in a mesh.

"Is that what you want? To go back home to your parents?" Mr. Furyk said.

"I'm not sure."

"Either pacify her, or get her back here, and you'll have your freedom. You can figure out the rest later."