He passed a few other delivery men and custodians—all too exhausted or apathetic to care about a newcomer.
The signs in this area were more disturbing: "Crisis Containment Wing. Level 4 Hazmat Required."
And one even more chilling:
"Live testing in progress. Do not engage with specimens."
He peered through a small viewing window and saw a dim-lit chamber. Inside were several glass tubes, most of them dark and empty. But in one of them, a small figure floated—a child, barely eight years old, with tubes in their mouth and electrodes glued to their shaved scalp.
The heartbeat monitor beeped irregularly.
Argo forced himself to keep moving.
Down another hallway, a group of custodians was talking animatedly, and he paused nearby to listen.
"Yeah, so that Dr. Myles? Gone. Just vanished last night."
"Another one? That's the fourth this month."
"They say he saw something in Naehr's chamber. Something that made him go quiet."
"Or maybe he just talked too much."
