Later That Day
The testing process was quiet and clinical.
Ethan accompanied Eleanor down to the private diagnostic wing. The hospital had reluctantly agreed to grant him direct access to the equipment under his research credentials.
Blood was drawn—more than once. He conducted a high-resolution fetal scan, collecting layered imaging data that could be mapped and simulated later. He took metabolic samplings and hormone readings, even cellular analysis from Eleanor's blood to study DNA drift and nutrient usage. All logged. All encrypted.
He didn't expect answers quickly.
The results would take hours to process.
That meant he had to return to the lab—and wait.
Back in the Lab
Ethan stood at the bench, organizing the samples and preparing them for in-depth simulation and breakdown. He had folders open—digital scans, chemical markers, test logs—all laid out like puzzle pieces, each waiting to unlock the next.
The knock came just past midday.
It was soft. Measured. Like they already knew they didn't need permission to enter.
Ethan didn't answer. He stood at the far end of the lab, preparing the latest blood and cellular samples for analysis. His back remained turned to the door.
It opened anyway.
Dr. Mercer stepped in first, followed by the same two men—no briefcases today, no stack of papers, no raised voices. Just calm eyes and folded arms.
"Mr. Davis," Mercer greeted.
Ethan didn't turn. "I assumed you were done here."
"We're never really done," she said smoothly, letting the door swing shut behind them. "We're simply… giving you space to reconsider."
Ethan finally looked over his shoulder. His eyes moved carefully from Mercer to the taller man, then to the other, slower-moving one who lingered near the corner of the lab. He noted their posture, the way their eyes scanned the room—not at the prototype, but at everything else. At the screens. At the notes. At him.
They did notice the vials were no longer there.
Or at least not visible to them.
"What do you want?" Ethan asked, voice neutral.
"We noticed your requisition for imaging and genetic panels this morning," the taller man said. "You've been running tests."
Ethan didn't answer.
"We were just wondering," Mercer added casually, "what exactly you're trying to find."
Ethan got the notebook from the other corner of the desk without looking at them. "Routine checks."
The shorter man let out a faint chuckle. "You and I both know that's not true."
Mercer didn't laugh. She tilted her head slightly. "You're searching for something, answers. Something you didn't expect to find. You're close, aren't you?"
Ethan's eyes flicked up to her. Brief. Sharp. But he said nothing.
The taller man stepped forward, speaking now with soft confidence. "We don't need the details for now. We can already kinda guess what you're doing here."
Ethan leaned back slightly. "Then why ask?"
"To give you a chance to be honest," the man replied. "Before honesty stops being a choice."
There was no threat in his voice.
That made it worse.
Ethan studied them now. Really looked. They were too calm. Too collected. As if this was already decided.
As if something had already been put in motion.
Mercer moved forward, her tone cooling just slightly.
"We've been polite, Mr. Davis. Patient. But let's not pretend we're only here for the prototype."
She let the words hang.
Ethan's posture stiffened. "..what?"
"You were part of a team once," she continued. "A very promising one. But you stood apart even then. The others used funding, publicity. But you? You used imagination. And the thing about imagination is—it doesn't stop. Not after one breakthrough."
"You think I've been hiding something?" Ethan said flatly.
The taller man replied, "We think you've invented more than what's in that vial. A man like you doesn't have just one miracle tucked away."
Silence.
They were studying him now, not accusing—assessing.
Ethan didn't flinch. But deep inside, gears turned faster.
How much do they know? Or worse… How do they know?
"This wasn't a choice," Ethan finally said. "This"—he gestured to the vial—"was survival."
"And yet it exposed you," Mercer said calmly. "Accidents have a way of doing that."
She stepped a little closer. "We could offer you protection, real protection. All you'd have to do is corporate. Share the data. Share the process. And perhaps… share what else you've been working on."
Ethan shook his head. "I'm not a tool that you can use. I'm not interested." There was no edge to his voice. No spike in emotion. Just a quiet, unwavering refusal.
The shorter man sighed, as though disappointed. "We figured as much."
They all stood in silence for a moment. A beat passed. Then another.
Mercer turned toward the door. "This was the last time we ask politely."
Ethan didn't follow her gaze.
She looked back one last time.
"You'll come around, Mr. Davis. Sooner than you think. Not because we force you—but because they will."
The way she said they made his blood chill.
She smiled—barely. Then they left, the door clicking softly behind them.
Ethan waited until the last footstep faded down the hallway. Then he moved quickly, sealing and encrypting the terminal. He sat back at the desk, trying to calm the noise in his head. He didn't know what they were planning. But they weren't here just to push paperwork.
They were watching the timeline. Waiting for something.
He turned back to the monitor as the final scan result loaded. The simulation bar blinked green.
Test Results: Complete.
He clicked to open the file—and stopped.
His breath caught. His eyes locked on the screen.
What he saw didn't make sense. And it didn't need to.
Because it was already too much.