Jude sat with the photograph between his fingers like it might catch fire if he blinked.
It was more than a warning. It was a statement:
We see you. We know where you are. And we are close.
He turned the envelope inside out. No return address. No prints. No ink smell, even. The photo itself was digital—printed on matte paper, smooth, professional. Not something made on a whim.
The camera angle—it had to be a security feed. Which meant they had access to city surveillance. Not just a stalker with a phone camera. No, this was institutional.
The list.
He grabbed the note again. The words echoed:
> "STOP ASKING ABOUT LEAH. OR YOU'LL JOIN THE LIST."
He stared at it.
Join the list.
Casey had said the same thing, hadn't he? "They're watching the list."
Not a hit list.
Not a mailing list.
Something else.
---
His hands were shaking. He needed clarity. Time. Quiet.
He didn't get it.
His phone lit up again. Another unknown number.
Against his better judgment, he picked up.
He didn't speak.
Neither did the voice on the other end.
Just breathing. Male. Slow. Controlled.
Then—two words, distorted and cold:
"Too late."
Click.
Jude dropped the phone like it burned.
His apartment suddenly felt too small. Too bright. He moved to the window and pushed the curtain aside.
Nothing.
But that meant nothing.
They were out there.
Watching.
He paced the room, every nerve buzzing. The envelope. The warning. The stolen flash drive.
He was missing something. A thread he hadn't pulled yet.
Then he remembered: the janitor.
Years ago, during his first investigation into Reynolds, one of the cleaners—an old man named Louis Trent—had mentioned "underground rooms, not on the blueprint."
Jude had chalked it up to ghost stories. Everyone had them about Reynolds Institute. But now, with that word MKCELL burned into his mind...
He needed to find Louis.
---
Two hours later, after searching through a pile of outdated notes and a quick, discreet visit to the old union hall, Jude stood in front of a faded duplex in Eastworth.
Louis Trent's place.
He rang the bell once.
Nothing.
Twice.
A slow shuffling sound from inside. Then a voice:
"Who is it?"
"Jude Mercer. I'm… following up on the Reynolds fire."
Pause. A long one.
Then the door opened. Barely a crack.
Louis squinted at him. Old, but not weak. Cautious eyes behind wireframe glasses.
"I told you people to stop coming."
"I'm not with them."
"No. You're worse. You're press."
"I was. Now I'm just a guy who saw a dead man tonight. And got a photo in the mail thirty minutes later."
That got his attention.
"Dead man?"
"Casey Morgan. Ring a bell?"
Louis opened the door fully now. "You better come inside."
---
The apartment smelled like liniment and dust. Stacks of newspapers and cereal boxes filled the corners.
Louis led him to a cluttered kitchen table and sat heavily.
Jude didn't waste time. "What do you know about the basement levels?"
Louis raised a brow. "You mean the ones that didn't exist?"
"Exactly those."
The old man took a sip from a chipped mug. "Only saw it once. On accident. Took a wrong service elevator. Doors opened on a level with no number. Lights were red. Everything was sterile. Too quiet."
"What was down there?"
"Doors. Heavy ones. All locked. One of 'em had a biohazard symbol."
Jude's throat tightened.
"You see anyone?"
"No faces. Just figures. Suits. Military cuts. Moved like they didn't want to be seen, even down there."
Jude scribbled everything down. "Ever hear the word MKCELL?"
Louis froze.
Then slowly leaned back.
"Boy," he said, voice lower, "you need to walk away. That word? It's a ghost. A black bag so deep even the alphabet boys don't touch it anymore."
"Who ran it?"
"Private contractors. Spinoffs from the old MK-ULTRA files. Mind patterning. Behavior suppression. Torture dressed as research. They rebranded it, moved it underground. Literally."
"And Leah Grayson?"
At that name, Louis actually winced.
"She was… collateral. Her father was digging too deep. Wouldn't play along. They had to erase the leverage. But something went wrong."
"She survived."
Louis looked at him long. "Then it ain't over."
Jude stood. "It never was."
---
Back in his apartment, Jude reviewed everything again. Now he had names. Places. Memories. And a pattern.
MKCELL. Reynolds. Grayson. Leah. The fire.
They were all connected.
But the photo changed things. If they were watching him, they knew he was close.
That meant only one thing.
He needed to get ahead of them.
---
He returned to Casey's old place.
Police tape was gone. Cleaned up fast.
But Jude had seen a vent grate near the stairwell when he first found the body. If Casey had hidden anything, it wouldn't be in plain sight.
He pried the grate open and reached in.
Metal. Cold. Smooth. A box.
He dragged it out. Locked. No key.
He took it home, smashed the lock with a hammer. Inside:
A flash drive.
A phone, turned off.
A torn note.
A ring.
The note read:
> "If I don't make it, send this to Grayson. He'll know what to do."
He's alive.
Jude stared at the flash drive.
He plugged it in. A single folder:
"HELIOS_P4"
Inside—videos. Surveillance footage. Lab files. Names. Test subjects. Dosage charts.
And one final file:
"Project Dove | Phase IV - Subject 013: Leah G."
He clicked.
A video loaded.
A sterile room. Leah, strapped to a chair. Pale. Wincing. Electrodes taped to her scalp.
A doctor's voice.
> "Subject shows high resistance to phase induction. Her memory recovery rate is unstable. Initiating override."
Leah screamed.
Jude slammed the laptop shut.
He sat back, shaking. It wasn't just mind games.
They had used her. Tortured her. Conditioned her.
She wasn't just hiding.
She was broken. Or dangerous. Or both.
And now… whoever had revived MKCELL wanted her gone. Or reclaimed.
Jude didn't know which was worse.
---
He was still staring into space when someone knocked again.
Three soft raps.
He drew his gun.
Yes—he had one. He wasn't stupid.
He opened the door slowly
Leah stood there.
Wet hair. Hollow eyes. Gaunt but defiant.
Alive.
Real.
And she was holding a burner phone.
"You shouldn't have opened the drive," she said quietly.
Then she walked past him, into the room, like she still belonged there.
And maybe she did.