He passed by several rooms, peering in as he walked. They were mostly empty, but some had remnants from the previous tenants still in them. Discarded chairs in one, a desk in another. It all added to the eerie vibe of the place.
A couple of staff members brushed past him without acknowledgement. It seemed like everyone who worked there wished to keep themselves to themselves, perhaps out of a communal sense of shame. Brendon kept his head down too and paced past, like he had somewhere to go.
He continued.
Then a heavy door at the end of one of the dimly lit corridors.
It was the only one with an imposing electronic security lock that blinked ominously on the wall to the right of it. Of all the doors he passed, these ones were the only ones that were brand new.
Something significant was behind them.
He fished out his brand-new key card and swiped it against the reader. The lock emitted a series of beeps, but nothing happened; it remained steadfastly shut.
"Fuck," Brendon muttered under his breath. He glanced over his shoulder. No one was watching. He quickly ducked into a nearby disused office. The room was cramped and filled with outdated furniture covered in dust. He took a moment to catch his breath before fumbling for his earpiece.
"Come on," he whispered urgently as he slipped it back into his ear. But static shrieked back at him. His head filled with white noise that made him grimace for a second.
Brendon pressed the earpiece deeper into his ear, hoping it would somehow fix it, and spoke in a whisper, "Naomi? Are you there?" Silence. Brendon pressed the earpiece tighter, straining to catch any sign of Naomi's voice through the scratchy static.
Then, a sudden sound jolted him from his focus. He peered slowly around the room's door frame. The heavy doors had swung open, and a figure stepped into the corridor.
It was a man dressed in medical scrubs and a white coat, engrossed in something on a tablet screen. The individual glanced around briefly before walking away, oblivious to Brendon.
Instinct kicked in.
Brendon darted toward the doors, his heart pounding in his chest. He shoved his hand into the closing doors just in time, feeling the cold heavy metal press against his palm. He stifled a scream as he fought the mechanical resistance of the self-shutting arms.
He looked back.
The figure continued down the corridor, his back to him, completely unaware. He watched as he turned a corner; his footsteps faded out in a few seconds. Brendon's breath quickened as he peered into the narrow opening.
He pushed hard and enlarged the crack in the doors and slipped inside without making a sound. Brendon steadied the door, trying to prevent it from fully closing. He pushed against them with his back as he took a moment to absorb the room before him.
It looked like a huge warehouse or hangar. It must have been at least five stories high with steel columns every fifty feet. Brendon was standing on a gantry one story up, seemingly in the middle of the back wall of the massive room. It stretched out hundreds of feet in all directions.
It took him some time to comprehend what he was looking out onto.
He gawped at row upon row of patient pods, all neatly arranged from left to right across the warehouse. Within each pod a gurney. Within each gurney a patient. Each patient with a VR headset and oxygen mask strapped to their heads, just like the woman Brendon had operated on. Next to each bed stood some kind of monitoring device on a wheeled trolley. Brendon guessed this to be the life support system that monitored brain activity and housed the O2 tanks for the masks.
Disbelief crashed over him as the implications of what he was seeing began to drop into his mind.
The low hum of generators echoed softly in the air, punctuated only by the rhythmic beeping of some of the monitors. Brendon instinctively reached for his pocket, fingers fumbling around until he pulled out a copy of Whitmore's paperwork. He quickly wedged it into the door's gap, ensuring it wouldn't fully close behind him.
He slowly made his way along the gantry and down a flight of stairs to his right. He descended slowly. The gantry was only along the back wall but ran the length of it.
His chest tightened as he weighed his options. He couldn't linger here too long. What would he say if he was discovered?
He spotted a large screen mounted on the wall, its interface flickering with some kind of activity. He hurried over to it. He began to operate the panel, fingers flying across the touchscreen as he searched Grace's name.
"Come on," he muttered under his breath. The search function whirred to life, displaying a list. He pushed past entries until her name leapt out at him.
Grace Walker. Was she here? He clicked on her profile.
The screen displayed her bay number and other details. His heart leapt in a sudden surge of joy.
Then Brendon's gut dropped.
"Status: Cardiopulmonary explanation. 12:30 06/06/2042"
Dread washed over him. That was two days from now.
"Damn it!" Brendon cursed. He grabbed the tablet screen with both hands as if he was going to rip it from the wall. He shook with urgency and fear as he raced through the maze of gurneys toward her bay number. It was at least two hundred feet into the centre of this human storage room.
He found her.
He pressed his hand against her cheek. Her face looked gaunt and grey. Brendon watched as her chest rose and fell. He didn't know what to do. His instinct was to disconnect her from her monitoring equipment and carry her out, but he knew that wouldn't help her. He squeezed her hand tight, hoping beyond hope that she might feel it somehow. Then, a noise shattered the moment. A door creak echoed from somewhere at the other end of the room.
Panic surged through him as he glanced up to see two technicians entering through a ground floor door about one hundred and fifty yards away. They moved with purpose, their conversation muffled.
Brendon's instinct kicked in; he needed to hide.
Without thinking, he ducked low and retraced his steps back toward the stairs. As he climbed the steps, each footstep felt like a countdown to discovery.
He reached the landing and froze.
A camera mounted in the corner swung slowly in his direction, its red light blinking ominously. His breath caught in his throat.
Nothing he could do now.
Quickly, he shifted along the gantry, keeping himself pressed against the wall. The technicians continued their chatter, oblivious to the figure lurking above them. Brendon glanced back at Grace's bay one last time; her stillness gnawed at him. He reached the door. He pulled out the wedge of paper and pushed through to the other side. The door quietly clicked shut softly behind him.
He breathed deeply.
Alone in the corridor, he leaned against the cold metal wall and took a moment to gather himself. He bent over and pulled air in by the gallon. He felt like he'd just sprinted a marathon.
The corridor beyond was dimly lit and thankfully empty. An opportunity that felt fleeting at best. He forced himself to move forward.
He kept close to the walls, mindful of any movement or sound that could signal someone was near. The sterile environment felt suffocating; every breath was tense as Brendon retraced his steps back to the locker room.
He pushed through its door, grabbing his bag and his jacket from the locker and slung it over his shoulder. He made a beeline for the lobby, adrenaline fueling his pace still.
As he approached the security gates, he forced himself to be calm. He patted down his hair and made sure his clothing was as presentable as possible. He presented his freshly minted pass to the reader and passed through without hesitation. Nodding as casually as he could to the receptionists at the desk, he paced for the exit. He just had to make it past the security room. He kept his head straight but eyeballed the door as he passed for as long as his peripheral vision would allow. Once he'd passed it, he picked up speed and was almost jogging by the time he got to the doors.