The next day I head underground with renewed purpose. A restless sleep filled with nightmare images and omniscient eyes has left me feeling frayed and angry, and I train this anger to a singular intent: justice. Retribution for what I have been shaped into, for what has been secreted here with the utmost care, for the other souls living a nightmare of desperation outside these walls. I feel it burn in the pit of my stomach as I recall the dank pit filled with bones, the strangeness of the people, the brute strength of the Sentinels, and the image of Bram, harbinger of all of this rage.
The fury that I feel gives me strength and a purpose that I never thought to have since learning of my fate as a member of the company. I don't tell Springer about my plans, though I know he can feel my frenetic urgency. It's not that I don't trust him, but if he knows what I plan to do, then I am sealing his fate once I am caught. Because I know I will be caught. It is inevitable. But I have accepted this and embraced my single-minded pursuit of the truth.
And so, I reenter the tunnels under the guise of wanting to fulfill our assignment. I ruthlessly shut down Springer's attempts at conversation and continue to meticulously map each section, paying closest attention to the areas surrounding the tomb. As is our habit, I often branch into a previously mapped pipeline to install surveillance equipment while Springer monitors various entry points to ensure our anonymity. It is easy for me to penetrate the building at the city's epicenter and install apparatus, undetectable to the untrained eye, that will give me access into the one place that I sense holds the key to the hundreds of souls buried under my feet.
Once each device has been installed, I find a section to hole up in and retrieve the data from each instrument, creating a holographic image of the lower level of the building. With this representation, I am able to divine an inconspicuous access point into the lower portion of the structure, and from this point, I find myself looking at an image of a series of rooms on the basement level that I am hoping will unlock the mystery of the tomb. From my schematic, I can see that a couple of rooms appear to house computers or files of some kind. It is these spaces that I will target.
Next, I hack into the security and surveillance systems. As I am looking over various files, I note an added layer of security that I have never seen before. It appears that only those with advanced levels of authorization have access to this part of the building. This discovery makes me certain that there must be sensitive information housed there. From the data I am viewing, the facility shuts down from twelve to five in the morning and enters a remote surveillance mode. Using my most recent training, I create a loop in the security feed that I will use to hide my activities when I return to ensure that I am undetected.
Now that everything is in place, I take a circuitous route back to Springer.
As we finish up our rounds, I realize that we are becoming very close to completing our assignment. It takes me off guard at first, but then I take a calming breath, comfortable in the knowledge that enough time still remains for me to find what I hope to find and reveal the truth.
Before I can head out of the tunnel, Springer grabs my arm and spins me around. "What the hell is wrong with you, Enora? You've been avoiding me all day."
I knew he'd likely force a confrontation over my behavior and am thankful that it is at the end of the day that everything is in place.
I pull my arm away and manufacture some tears before crying out, "I need to get out of this place, Springer! I can't do this anymore," a phony sob punctuates my plea as I continue my performance. "I can't sleep without thinking of it, and my stomach churns when I try to eat. I need to get this job done…I…I don't even care what's going on here!" I fling my arm to indicate all of Renascence. "This whole place is a fucking tomb!"
I see the skepticism scrawl across his face. I can see his indecisiveness and then watch his face as he capitulates. "Then let's get this job done and get the hell out of this place."
I nod, ashamed of my deceit but confident in its necessity. "Thank you."
Springer sighs, but he doesn't push me anymore, and we head back to headquarters, silent and thoughtful.
Keeping a constant eye on the clock, it feels like the numbers are barely moving, but eventually, I hear soft snores from the other chamber. I stealthily climb from my bed and make my way out of the room. As soon as I enter the hall, I yawn and stretch for the benefit of the hidden cameras that I know must be watching me at this late hour. Thankfully, I also know that my cover allows me a certain level of protection from any inquisition, especially after our initial contact when we first arrived. I calmly exit the building, an air of importance and surety in my step as I make my way to the subterranean levels of the city. Once there, I can't help feeling a sense of relief, and my shoulders sag briefly before I take out my flashlight and make my way to the heart of Renascence.
I should have known Springer wouldn't be fooled. He knows me too well and probably woke the minute my foot touched the floor as I stealthily climbed from my bed. But it startles me when I feel his breath on my neck as I begin to climb a short ladder to a manhole that opens to a utility room in the basement of the building I am infiltrating.
"Did you really think you could do this without me?" His whisper, barely audible in my ear, startles me so badly that I yelp.
"You scared the crap out of me!" I allow a soft sigh of defeat to escape before slowly shaking my head, accepting the knowledge that deep down, I knew there was no way I could do this alone.
"Sorry." But I can tell from his smirk that he isn't.
I turn and look at him. "Together?" He nods, and we enter the building.
It is almost two in the morning as we climb into a utility room, an ample space with standard building equipment. I pull up my holograph to orient myself. As an extra precaution, I pull up the identity scans from earlier in the evening and am relieved to see that no one has reentered this part of the building during its nightly shut down.
This is it. I upload my surveillance loop and disable the security, and we begin our ascent into the lower rooms of the building. Walking quickly and quietly, we make our way through the rooms to the location that I sense will have our answers.
We find a room with a sign stating records. I close the door, turn on the light, and let out a breath that I hadn't realized I was holding. This is it. Before us are three walls of filing cabinets and then a large, central computer. I am fearful of accessing the computer but feel it is safe enough to open the files. I motion to Springer to take one side of the room as I head to the wall on the right. My hand is trembling slightly as I reach for the first drawer labeled G1 and noiselessly slide it open.
It is hard to decipher what I am looking at as I scan what appear to be medical records. There is a photograph of an infant with a corresponding identification number: 0001. His grotesquely malformed face is scrunched in a grimace as though he is about to let out a cry of outrage. I trace the image with my finger as though I can reach out and alter the past. I flip to the next page and see a collection of data that is a confusing jumble. I sit down on the floor and read through it, trying to decipher the meaning. After staring at and rereading the data, I set the folder aside and reach for another after what seems like an eternity. It is the same: a tiny image of deformity, a corresponding number, a mess of data that I am unable to construe.
File after file, it is the same, and I soon find that I have come to the end of the drawer. I stare around the room in a daze, each wall is covered with filing cabinets, and each cabinet is filled with images I can barely stand to look at, let alone comprehend.
It is as I'm contemplating the enormity of what we have found that I finally stop and look at Springer. His face is ghastly white as he pours over the open file in his hand. I tiptoe toward him, almost afraid to ask him what he's found.
He looks up as I step next to him, asking me, "Do you know what this means?"
I shake my head, frustrated that I cannot seem to unlock what should be so glaringly apparent. He turns the folder toward me so that I am looking at the same heap of data that I had seen in each file but could not comprehend.
"It's genetic information," he explains when he sees my confusion. "I'm not positive, but I think that all of these babies are part of some genetic testing."
"Genetic testing?" I ask, completely at a loss as to why they would genetically test on babies.
"Yes, I think that each of these infants is a kind of genetic anomaly, created in a lab."
I take the folder in my hand, staring at it as if the secrets hidden within the data will somehow fit together like the pieces of a puzzle. But I can't see it. I was never very good at science, didn't really pay enough attention if I'm honest with myself. Now I wish I had.
I wander back over to the first folder that remains open on the floor, subject 0001. I sit down and slowly page through the information when my eyes fall onto something I hadn't seen in my first perusal. Next to the date of birth are two timestamps. Why would there be two timestamps? My brain circles this as I stare at the digits, and then it clicks, and a sickening realization sinks into my mind: time of birth and time of death. There is no change in date because they hadn't let him live even one day.
The taste of bile coats my tongue as I lean my head against the wall, dizzy with the knowledge I have found and sickened by what it means. I hear Springer crouch next to me. He doesn't say anything, just gently takes the folder from my open hand and looks at the page.
Through a blur of tears, I manage to utter, "The time stamps."
He grunts as if he already knows. I hear him close and replace the folder before wordlessly shutting the cabinet. I crane my neck to look at him and take the hand he offers to pull me to my feet. His hand is on the knob of the door when we hear a noise from one of the adjoining rooms, and we freeze. We are not alone.