Dax's words echoed in the room, filling the emptiness with the weight of an implicit but unmistakable threat. "73P is a very isolated place. 'Disappearances' here are... common." There was no anger or frustration in his tone, only a pragmatic statement of the facts in this forgotten corner of the solar system. My refusal to cooperate, my clinging to the truth and my writer's conscience, had exhausted his limited patience.
Dax leaned back in his chair, the tired expression returning to his face, but now with a calculated coldness in his eyes. The corporate bodyguard at his side maintained his unwavering posture, a silent figure of latent danger. I understood that the "negotiation" phase was over. Now came... whatever came. Coercion, perhaps. Or worse.
"It's a shame you're choosing this path, Mr. Cole," Dax said, his voice becoming a little lower. "The truth is a... flexible concept on the border. Especially when billions of credits are at stake." He nodded toward the guards manning the door. "Take him away. Make sure he's... comfortable. We have plenty of time to reflect on your options."
The guards approached, unbuckling the straps holding me to the chair. Their movements were efficient and without unnecessary comment. They stood me up, the cold metal of the new cuffs on my wrists a reminder of my situation. I took one last look at Dax and the bodyguard. Their faces were impassive, like statues of ice and steel. They didn't care about my fate, only the protection of their secrets.
I was taken out of the interrogation room and led through another maze of metal corridors. This section of the base felt even more isolated. The walls were thicker, the doors more robust. The sound from the main base seemed distant, muffled by the solid structure. This was clearly a high-security level.
My destination turned out to be a holding cell. It was small, cubic, with smooth metal walls and floor. A folding bunk bed was wedged into one wall, and there was a small opening near the ceiling, supposedly for ventilation, but which only served to admit cold, stagnant air. There was no furniture, no windows, nothing that could be used to attempt escape or communication. The door was a solid metal plate with a small slot at eye level, covered by a grate.
They stripped me of my few belongings (my datapad had already been taken), ensuring I had nothing I could use as a tool or weapon. Fortunately, the memory chip and the small transmitter remained undetected in their secret compartment. It was a small consolation in the midst of despair.
The guards left me inside, the loud metallic thud of the door closing and the sound of the electronic lock activating echoing in the small space. I was alone. Trapped in a steel box in the heart of a base on an icy moon, billions of miles from any help.
The solitude in the cell was overwhelming. I tried to calm my breathing, control the rising panic. I walked the few steps the cell allowed, touching the cold, smooth walls. There were no cracks, no visible weak spots. The cell was designed to contain, and it did so with brutal efficiency.
My mind returned to the conversation with Dax. Had they actually intercepted the transmission? Security here was high-end, but Dick had said his device was special. Was it possible that a signal, albeit low-power, had managed to get through the base's defenses and reach a distant receiver before being completely blocked? It was a faint, almost desperate hope, but I clung to it. If the transmission had gotten through, even partially, then the truth about the Chimeric Compound might have a chance of coming out, even if I didn't survive to see it.
I thought about Kael. Where was he? Was he in a similar cell, or was he being interrogated more... intensely? He'd risked a lot by trusting me, by giving me access to the ducts and helping me with the briefcase. I hoped his luck would be better than mine, though given the nature of those who'd captured us, I doubted it. And Dr. Hanson... what was happening to her? Did they know she'd been the one to originally document the dangers of the Compound? Was she a prisoner as well, or still in her gilded cage on the research level, oblivious to our fate?
The hours passed slowly, marked only by the monotony of the constant artificial light and the distant hum of the base. I tried to rest on the folding bunk, but the cold and anxiety prevented me. Every metallic creak outside, every distant footstep, put me on alert. Were they coming for me? The next phase of the interrogation? Or something more... permanent?
At one point, I heard voices in the corridor outside. They seemed to be guards having a casual conversation. I couldn't make out the words, but their relaxed tone contrasted horribly with the tension inside me. Life on the base carried on, oblivious to the minor drama unfolding in this high-security section.
Then I heard a different sound. Lower, more subtle. A scraping on metal, followed by a faint electronic click. It seemed to be coming from the wall next to my cell. I got up from the bunk, walked over to the wall, straining my ears. The sound repeated itself, methodically. Someone was trying to... open the wall?
My mind, trained on the plot twists of my own novels, activated. An escape attempt? A rescue? Or an elaborate trap? Distrust was my new second nature in 73P. I remained silent, watching the wall, my heart beating again with a mixture of fear and a spark of hope. In a place where disappearances were common, any sound out of the ordinary could mean a drastic change in the script. And I was ready for the next chapter, no matter how dangerous. The icy darkness of the cell seemed to hold a new secret, a new possibility, that broke the hopeless monotony of my captivity.
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