Chapter three (Completed)

The tires of Wallace’s sedan shrieked in protest as he pushed the car to its absolute limits. Adrenaline had long since replaced the exhaustion, fueling a desperate, reckless drive through the winding coastal roads. His mind raced, calculating the time it would take the retrieval team to breach his property versus his own arrival time.

He had designed his home security system himself—a multi-layered defense featuring pressure plates, motion sensors, and high-definition thermal cameras linked directly to a local, private server. The voice on the phone said it was disabled. That meant they weren't typical burglars; they had the technical prowess to not just jam the system, but compromise it from the inside, suggesting a level of sophistication that was truly terrifying.

They knew his name. They knew his address. They probably knew his coffee order.

The twenty-minute drive felt like an hour of pure panic. He pictured his pristine lab being dismantled, his life’s work compromised. But worse than that was the sickening realization of the violation of his sanctuary. He was a man who prized control and isolation; these people had shattered both in a single phone call.

He reached his long, gravel driveway. He killed the headlights fifty yards from the house, coasting the rest of the way in darkness, the crunch of gravel loud in the silent night.

The house was dark. Completely dark. No lights were on. Not even the subtle glow of standby power indicators. They had cut the main power.

He grabbed the large, heavy-duty Maglite from his glove compartment and an old, legally acquired bear spray canister he kept for emergencies. It wasn't a gun, but it might buy him a few seconds.

He moved silently toward the rear of the house, where a large glass sliding door led into his open-plan living area. He found the security panel pried open, wires severed cleanly. Professional work.

He tried the sliding door handle. Unlocked. They were confident. They wanted him to come in.

Wallace slid the door open a crack. The air inside the house was still and cold. He swept the powerful beam of his flashlight into the room. Nothing. The living area was empty, furniture undisturbed. He moved methodically, step by step, clearing the kitchen, the hallway, the study. The only sound was the distant hum of his own heartbeat.

He crept toward the basement door. That was where the lab was. That was where the real prize was.

He descended the stairs slowly, each wooden step a potential squeal that could give him away. Halfway down, he saw the faint light glowing under the lab door. They hadn't cut the lab's power; it ran on its own auxiliary solar system, buried deep underground.

He reached the bottom of the stairs. The door was ajar. He pushed it open with the tip of the bear spray canister.

The scene in the lab was a stark contrast to the quiet house. Two men were inside. One was at his main server rack, plugging a large, sophisticated data transfer array into the backbone of his system. The other was standing near the work bench, holding the sat phone and the yellowed photograph, examining them with clinical detachment.

They were dressed in tactical gear, all matte black with no insignia. Their movements were efficient and practiced.

"Drop your weapon, Mr. Thorne," the man at the workbench said, his voice the same smooth, educated tone from the satellite phone call. He hadn't even heard Wallace come in, but the second man at the server rack had subtle movement.

Wallace aimed the bear spray, his finger hovering over the trigger. "Let it go."

The man at the workbench placed the photo down and smiled faintly, turning fully to face Wallace. He was physically imposing, with ice-cold blue eyes and a scar running from his eyebrow to his jawline.

“We can do this the easy way or the hard way, Wallace,” the man said, taking a step forward. “The data on that drive is of utmost importance to national security. You are compromising an active operation.”

“National security doesn’t hire anonymous thugs in the dead of night,” Wallace spat back, sweat dripping into his eyes. “I saw the video. You built a submarine base or something just as big down there. Who are you?”

“My name is Agent Kaelen,” the man said, his eyes flicking to the bear spray can with mild interest. “And you have exactly three seconds to comply.”

The man by the server racks started moving toward him, a low-voltage taser baton appearing in his hand.

Wallace didn't wait for three seconds. He deployed the bear spray.

A massive cloud of concentrated capsaicin filled the lab instantly. The man at the server rack screamed, stumbling backward, clawing at his eyes. Agent Kaelen, reacting faster, threw an arm up, but the mist enveloped him too. He staggered, coughing violently.

The chemical fog gave Wallace his chance. He bolted into the lab, knocking over a rack of network analyzers, causing a cascade of equipment to crash to the floor. He lunged for the server rack, pulling the main fiber lines he had just worked so hard on earlier. Data transfer stopped instantly.

Kaelen recovered faster than his partner. He lunged, tackling Wallace to the ground. The Pelican case went flying across the room, the USB drive dislodging and skittering under a large server cabinet.

They wrestled on the cold floor, the air thick and choking with the bear spray. Kaelen was stronger, his movements economical and brutal. He landed a sharp blow to Wallace’s jaw.

Wallace managed to grab a heavy-duty screwdriver from the floor nearby and swung wildly. He missed Kaelen's face but caught him in the shoulder. Kaelen roared in pain, momentarily pulling back.

Wallace scrambled to his feet, gasping for air. The second agent was still a gasping mess on the floor, blinded and useless. Kaelen was hurt but functional.

"You're making this infinitely worse for yourself," Kaelen snarled, pulling the screwdriver from his shoulder, blood quickly staining his tactical gear.

Wallace ignored him, his eyes scanning the floor for the small black USB drive. He spotted it, tucked beneath a server.

He dove for it, his fingers brushing the plastic edge. Kaelen was on him again. This time, Kaelen produced a small vial from his vest pocket and slammed it onto the back of Wallace’s neck with force.

A sharp sting, followed by an immediate, wave of intense disorientation and numbness washed over Wallace. The room spun. His vision blurred. The adrenaline rush evaporated, replaced by the heavy hand of a powerful sedative.

Kaelen hauled him up by his collar. Wallace’s legs wouldn't work. The last thing he saw was Agent Kaelen’s cold blue eyes, a triumphant smile on his lips, as he picked up the USB drive and the photograph.

“Sleep now, Wallace. You’ve just joined the real Project Maelstrom.”

Wallace's world faded to black. The chapter ended in darkness and uncertainty