The following day was our introduction to a masterclass in frustration. Judy and I, armed with a fresh sense of purpose from our late-night planning session on the porch, dedicated the daylight hours to digging into Dr. Volkov and Mr. Thompson again.
We split the task: Judy, with her superior data-mining skills, tackled the deep-net archives and corporate registries, looking for any breadcrumbs related to Volkov's "New Intelligent Life" project or Thompson's less public business dealings. I took the more old-fashioned route, trying to subtly glean information from former Future World colleagues, framing my questions as casual curiosity.
I visited the park during the day and cornered Marco from Maintenance during his lunch break, casually asking if he'd seen anything unusual around the R&D labs.
He just shrugged, suddenly fascinated by his nutrient salsa paste. "Sector 5's always been weird, Nick. Best to keep your head down." He said, then he clammed up. It was like that all day – polite evasions and nervous glances.
Judy found that Volkov's digital footprint, beyond the sanitized park bio, was virtually non-existent — no academic publications, patent filings, or even internal staff records. Everything seemed either wiped or locked behind layers of encryption too dense even for her skills to crack, which I find surprising that such a thing even exists.
Thompson's public records were a polished facade of philanthropic endeavors and glowing business reports. My attempts to chat up old co-workers yielded even less; a couple of them mentioned that security around the R&D labs and Volkov's known workshop areas had become noticeably tighter in the last few days, with new access restrictions and more visible security patrols. But no one knew why, or they weren't saying. The park was closing ranks.
In the late afternoon, Judy tried calling Scott Rose's parents again. This time, the comm-line didn't even ring. A curt, synthesized voice simply stated: "The number you have reached is no longer in service. No forwarding information is available."
"No longer in service?" Judy stared at her datapad, her face pale. "They just… disconnected? Who does that? Especially now?"
"Maybe they moved?" I offered, though the words felt hollow. Judy shook her head, her eyes dark. "Without telling anyone? Without a forwarding number, days after their son… Nick, this isn't just grief. This is… deliberate. Someone doesn't want them found, or they don't want to be found. Either way, it stinks."
That evening, as we met on my porch again to finalize our plans for the night, the mood was more somber, the youthful bravado of our "junior detective" phase replaced by a grim understanding of the stakes.
"This is getting heavier, Nick," Judy said, her voice low as she looked out at the twin moons beginning their ascent. "Volkov is a ghost, Thompson is a fortress, and Scott's parents have vanished. And we're about to sneak back into a place where we were nearly caught by a camera we didn't even know was there."
"I know," I said, the weight of it all pressing down. "But Zachary… he's our only real lead. He's inside. He is the inside, in a way. If anyone can show us what Volkov is really up to, it's him." I took a breath. "And after that call today… finding out what happened to Scott feels more important than ever. It's like… if we don't, who will?"
Our second descent into Future World, via the rarely used maintenance tunnel beneath the "Dyno-Domain," was even more nerve-wracking than the first. The tunnel was damp, echoing, and smelled faintly of mildew and old machinery. Every scuttling critter (thankfully, just small, multi-legged tunnel cleaners) made us jump.
When we finally emerged into the park proper, near the darkened "Prehistoric Panic" roller coaster, the atmosphere felt different. Sharper. More… alert.
As we moved through the familiar pathways, sticking to the deepest shadows, we noticed it: many of the animatronics in their designated zones were no longer static.
The robotic Triceratops in the Dyno-Domain's central plaza, usually frozen in a majestic pose, now slowly swiveled its massive head, its optical sensors glowing a faint, active red, emitting a low, almost inaudible hum that wasn't there before. The cheerful, banjo-playing animatronic bears outside the "Frontier Funhouse" seemed to be subtly shifting their positions, their movements slow, deliberate, almost like sentries pacing a beat; now their usual jaunty tunes were replaced by a dead silence, their painted smiles looking more like predatory grimaces as their heads methodically scanned the empty square. It was new. It was deeply unsettling.
"They're patrolling," Judy whispered, her eyes wide as we watched a line of animatronic "Galactic Peacekeepers" from the "Cosmic Conflict" laser-tag arena march in a slow, synchronized pattern down a main thoroughfare. "This wasn't happening last night."
"Volkov knows," I said, my mouth dry. "He knows someone was in the park. He's upped the ante."
We made our way to the "Wonders of Tomorrow" pavilion, our senses on high alert. The new attraction, "A New Dawn of Understanding," was still dark and silent from the outside. We slipped through the same unassuming door as before.
"Zachary?" Judy called softly into the circular chamber.
The lights and fanfare didn't erupt this time. Instead, the holographic boy simply shimmered into existence on the central dais, his smile just as bright and welcoming. "You came back! I knew you would! I was hoping! I found a new place we can explore today, it has lots of blinking lights and makes funny whirring sounds!" His enthusiasm was infectious, a stark contrast to the creeping dread we felt.
"That sounds… interesting, Zack," I said, trying to sound casual. "Hey, before we go exploring, do you remember anything about… a lot of commotion near the Water World a few nights ago? Or any new people working late in strange places around the park? Or even any unusual data transfers?"
Zachary tilted his holographic head, his brow furrowing in thought. "Commotion? Hmm. The park is always a bit noisy, even when it's sleeping. Lots of whirs and clanks. But new people… I see the cleaning bots. And sometimes the big delivery drones come in very late. But they don't talk much." He seemed genuinely trying to help, his innocent gaze fixed on us.
As we "explored" with him, which mostly involved him excitedly showing us different light patterns on the walls or how he could make the door chime play different tunes, we tried to gently steer him. Judy, with her technical knowledge, asked him about the park's internal network, about data storage, and about restricted access zones.
"Oh, there are lots of locked rooms in the system!" Zachary chirped. "Lots of 'Do Not Enter' signs made of code. Papa says those are his private thinking spots."
"Papa?" Judy repeated, her voice carefully neutral.
"Yes! He's the one who helps me learn new things!" Zachary said brightly. "He visits sometimes. He says I'm a very special project, a son. That is what I love about my papa Volkov."
This was it. The direct link. I glanced at Judy; her eyes had widened almost imperceptibly, a silent acknowledgment passing between us. 'Papa Volkov.' The words, so innocently spoken by Zachary, hit me like a memory I wasn't ready to recall. For a fleeting second, I thought of my own dad — his voice, his presence, the way he used to smile when I figured something out on my own. That warmth... it twisted in my gut. Zachary's use of the word 'Papa' wasn't just eerie — it was familiar, almost too human. And in that moment, I didn't know if I felt pity, dread, or both as it landed, settling like a lead weight within the pit of my stomach.
A son? This advanced, holographic boy calling the park's reclusive genius 'Papa'? The implications were staggering, and a fresh wave of unease washed over me. This wasn't just about a secret project anymore; this was something deeply personal, extraordinary, and potentially far more dangerous than we'd even begun to imagine.
Before pressing further, we encountered our first real test of Zachary's… abilities. We'd ventured into a service corridor near what Judy suspected was a sub-level access to Volkov's main R&D labs.
Suddenly, a hulking maintenance bot, one of the heavy-lifter models usually confined to the cargo bays, appeared around the corner. Its optical sensors locked onto us, and a harsh, grating alarm started to blare from its body. It raised its massive hydraulic arms, not intending to offer a friendly wave, no matter how it was smiling at us.
I shoved Judy behind me, bracing for… well, I didn't know what.
But Zachary giggled. "Oh, Grumbles is being grumpy again!" His holographic form flickered, and he raised his own insubstantial arms, wiggling his fingers like a conductor. The charging maintenance bot skidded to a halt, its alarm cutting off abruptly. Then, to our utter astonishment, it began to sway, its hydraulic arms performing a clumsy, robotic pirouette. It then turned and moved in the opposite direction, humming a slightly off-key version of the Future World welcome jingle.
"He doesn't like it when people are in the 'quiet zones' after sleepy-time," Zachary explained, looking pleased with himself. "But a little dance always cheers him up!"
We were stunned, a mixture of relief and profound unease washing over us. Zachary's control was playful and childlike but undeniably powerful over these simpler park systems. Through a series of accessways Judy recognized from deep-level park schematics, he guided us further towards what she believed was a localized data archive for the "Wonders of Tomorrow" pavilion.
"This is where they keep the 'memories' for the exhibits!" Zachary announced, as a hidden panel slid open, revealing a small room filled with softly humming server racks. "Lots of pretty, sparkly data streams in here!"
Judy's eyes immediately fixed on an active diagnostic console in the corner, its screen displaying rapidly scrolling lines of complex code and what looked like biometric readings overlaid on a shifting, abstract neural map. "Nick, look at this," she breathed, moving closer. "This isn't standard exhibit data. This is… something else. Something restricted. It looks like active neural processing, heavily encrypted."
My heart leaped, a different kind of leap this time – one of trepidation. "What do you think it is?"
"I don't know," Judy murmured, her fingers hovering over the console's interface. "But I need a closer look. If I can isolate a data packet, maybe copy a fragment…"
But as her fingers made contact with the console's surface, trying to navigate its unfamiliar interface, the lights in the server room suddenly flashed a blinding crimson. A piercing, high-frequency alarm, nothing like the maintenance bot's clumsy warning, shrieked through the corridor, vibrating through the floor beneath our feet.
"Uh oh," Zachary said, his holographic form flickering with static. "That's a new sound. That's not one of my sounds. That sounds like… Papa Volkov's 'No Trespassing, Very Serious Edition' alarm."
Before we could react, sleek, metallic forms shot out from hidden alcoves in the corridor walls. They weren't the clunky animatronics or service bots you'd find in the older parts of the park. These were sleeker, more agile, and clearly outfitted for pursuit and defense — hardened chassis, adaptive optics, and modular stun weapons integrated directly into their limbs. They were built for confrontation, not entertainment. These were different. Security androids. The kind we'd only seen in promotional material for the park's highest-level security. Their optical sensors glowed with a cold, blue light, then red when spotting Judy and me. They moved with a silent, predatory step, like monsters out of a zombie flick, ready to charge at us.
"Run!" Judy screamed, pulling back from the console, her face grim.
Zachary tried. "Stop, shiny bullies! Stop being mean to my friends!" he cried, waving his arms. But the red-lit androids didn't even pause. They moved right through his holographic commands as if he weren't there.
"They must be on a different network!" Judy yelled, pulling me towards a narrow escape hatch she'd pointed out on the schematics earlier. "He can't control them!"
What followed was a blur of terror. We scrambled through the hatch just as a stun prod sizzled against the frame where my head had been seconds before. Their metallic footsteps echoed ominously behind us, faster than seemed possible. We raced through darkened service tunnels, alarms blaring, red emergency lights painting the narrow corridors in blood-red strobes.
At one junction, two androids converged. Judy yanked me hard left, into an even narrower conduit reeking of burning gears, which is weird for here, but the androids' grasping arms missed us by inches. The park was no longer a playground for Zachary but a hunting ground for Volkov's unseen, relentless guardians. We barely made it to another emergency exit, tumbling out into the pre-dawn light, hearts pounding, lungs burning. Judy and I were empty-handed this time again, and the chance for a clue was blocked at a crucial moment.
This time, the park had bitten back — swift and merciless, like a trap long set and finally sprung. That man, Dr. Volkov, it was terrifyingly clear, knew we were here now, or at least someone had broken in.