The room was cloaked in shadow, the only light a dim, flickering lamp casting jagged silhouettes across the cluttered desk. Albert sat hunched over, his fingers stained with ink, scrawling feverishly across the mess of papers strewn before him. His hands trembled-not with exhaustion, but exhilaration. The breakthrough was here. The answer had been buried in failure after failure, test after test, but now it had clawed its way into the light.

“Electricity.”

He had seen it with his own eyes-Edwin's blood had reacted to the current, pulsing like a living entity, glowing with an unnatural radiance. The implications rattled in his skull like an untamed storm.

Albert pushed back from the desk and rose, striding toward the massive glass windows that loomed over the sleeping city. Dawn bled across the horizon in delicate strokes of violet and gold, the sky still heavy with the weight of night. He exhaled, his breath fogging the cold glass as his reflection stared back at him-gaunt, unblinking, feverish with revelation.

"Electricity," he whispered, tasting the word like a forbidden secret. A slow, triumphant smile curled his lips. "I just need the correct voltage.

That's the key. The cure is in the blood, and electricity is what unlocks it. If I can extract it... mass produce it..." He let out a shuddering breath. "This silent, decade-long war will finally be over."

His fingers twitched at his sides. His heart pounded with the weight of possibility.

But the voice in the back of his mind was insidious. Although it might kill him...

Albert pressed a hand against the glass, his nails scraping faintly against its smooth surface.

That's the price of progress.

He turned sharply, striding back across the room, his thoughts racing ahead of him. This was it— the moment that would cement everything he had sacrificed. Years of relentless work, of buried guilt, of nights spent drowning in calculations and sleepless delirium, were finally about to bear fruit. The disease that had ravaged humanity, stolen millions, shattered civilizations-it could end. It would all be worth it.

And all it took was a single life.

He grabbed the phone and punched in a number, the sharp beeping of the line filling the silence. The moment the nurse picked up, he didn't wait for pleasantries.

"Bring my son to the Second Level," he ordered, his voice clipped, urgent. "I don't care if he's unconscious-just get him up here."

A pause. The hesitation was barely there, but he heard it.

"But sir, he's... he doesn't seem in any condition _"

"No prep needed," Albert snapped, his fingers tightening around the receiver. "Just make sure he's strapped down. I don't have time for this."

The words left him in a rush of finality. His jaw locked as he slammed the phone down.

The weight of the decision settled over him like a phantom.

Albert ran a hand down his face, the bitter taste of old coffee clinging to his tongue. He reached for his fourth mug of the night, swallowing the remnants of his exhaustion. His fingers curled around the ceramic, knuckles white.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

"Time is of the essence," he muttered to himself, his voice hoarse. His gaze drifted back to the horizon. "I cannot wait any longer."

And with that, he turned away from the dawn, stepping back into the darkness.

———////////———

For a moment, the world seemed to pause.

The cold sterility of the hospital, the soft hum of machinery, the distant shuffle of footsteps— none of it mattered as their eyes met. In that brief exchange, no words were needed. A silent promise passed between them. There was no turning back.

Then—

"Wait!" Cenilera whispered sharply. "Don't you think we need a better plan? This is too sudden."

Robert's expression remained unchanged, his jaw tight. "We may never get another opportunity. This is the only option."

Silence settled between them, thick with unspoken fears.

Doctor Cenilera inhaled deeply, steadying herself. The weight of hesitation lifted from her shoulders. There was no more time for doubt. This could possibly be the best and only chance they had.

Doctor Cenilera was the first to break the tension, her voice steadier now, the weight of hesitation finally lifting. "I think I can buy us more time."

She snatched the clipboard from the foot of Edwin's bed, her hand moving in quick, deliberate strokes. Her pulse thrummed in her ears as she scribbled the words that could make the difference between escape and failure.

Then she stepped back, scanning her work.

"There." Her voice was quieter now, yet firm.

"This should throw them off. Buy us a few extra minutes, at least."

Robert's lips curled into a faint, approving smirk.

"Good. Now let's move. We've wasted enough time already."

He turned to Edwin, gently shaking the boy's shoulder. "Hey, time to wake up."

No Response.

Robert tried again, his voice firmer this time.

Still, Edwin remained motionless, his breathing deep, oblivious to the urgency pressing in around them.

Cenilera's brows furrowed as she folded her arms. "You hit him with too many tranquilizers," she muttered. "He's not waking up anytime soon. It's best to just carry him."

Robert exhaled sharply but wasted no time.

With calculated precision, he scooped Edwin into his arms, supporting his limp frame as if handling something fragile.

They stepped into the corridor, their movements measured, their pace controlled-just another routine transport, nothing unusual. But every step felt like a gamble.

Nurses at their stations remained fixated on their screens, the dim glow reflecting in their tired eyes. None of them so much as glanced up. For now, they were invisible. But they wouldn't stay that way for long. The clock was ticking.

Cenilera leaned in, her whisper barely audible over the hum of the hospital. "Are you sure about the elevator? You'll need to scan your security card to go down to the Fourth Level.

Albert-he keeps logs. Every scan, every trip— it'll show up. He'll know."

Robert stiffened. Why hadn't he thought of that?

"What's your suggestion?"

"The stairs," she said, voice firm. "We wake Edwin up on the way down. He needs to know what's happening before it's too late. If he wakes up at the wrong time and doesn't know where he is—"

Robert's jaw tightened. "You're right. We can't have him panicking with anyone around. Lead the way."

They pivoted sharply toward the stairwell, but just as they neared the doors, a figure stepped around the corner.

A doctor.

His gaze swept over them, pausing-lingering too long.

"Taking him to X-ray," she said quickly, her voice eerily calm.

Cenilera's pulse pounded in her ears.

A beat of silence.

Then the doctor blinked, gave a curt nod, and continued on his way. The moment his footsteps faded, Cenilera let out a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. "I can't believe that worked."

"We're heading the wrong way too," Robert muttered.

"Just be glad it did," she shot back. But worry gnawed at her. Edwin was too well-known here.

They wouldn't be able to keep walking through these halls unnoticed.

"Robert," she whispered. "We can't just carry him down the stairs like this. Everyone here knows him. Someone's bound to stop us."

Robert exhaled sharply, weighing their options.

"We don't have time to change him now. Once this floor goes into lockdown, they'll be looking for anyone in a doctor's coat or scrubs. Our best shot is to get him into a guard's uniform. And those are on the Fourth Level."

Cenilera didn't hesitate. She shrugged off her white coat, thrusting it toward him. "It's not much, but it'll help cover him for now."

Robert adjusted Edwin in his arms, lowering him just enough for Cenilera to drape the coat over him, tucking it around his face. It was a poor disguise, but it was better than nothing.

Without another word, they slipped through the stairwell door.

The walls were bare concrete, the air thick with dust and stale disinfectant. Each step echoed ominously, a rhythmic drumbeat of urgency.

Downward they went, the weight of time pressing against them, knowing that with every level they passed, the walls of the hospital were closing in.

Somewhere above them, alarms would soon sound. And then, truly, there would be no turning back.