# Chapter 20: Project Chimera
The Warden's voice, a calm baritone laced with condescending authority, echoed in the small, sterile space outside his office. The klaxon's shriek was a physical assault, a vibration that rattled Barrett's teeth and seemed to shake the very foundations of Blackstone. Red emergency lights painted the corridor in strokes of blood and panic, turning the polished floor into a pulsating river of alarm. But Barrett's focus was a pinpoint of white-hot intensity, fixed on the datapad in his hand. The Warden's gloating face had vanished, replaced by a stark, blinking progress bar. Anya's worm, a piece of code she'd affectionately named 'Gremlin,' hadn't died. It had burrowed deeper, going dark just as the connection was severed, now fighting its way back from inside the system. Ninety-five percent. The file was almost his.
He didn't have time to waste. The lockdown was a cage snapping shut. Automated blast doors would be descending, sealing sectors, turning the entire prison into a series of kill boxes. He had to move. His fingers danced across the screen, bypassing the Warden's taunt and re-establishing the link. The terminal inside the office flickered, the Warden's face dissolving into a cascade of raw data. The file was open. Gremlin had done its job.
Barrett's eyes scanned the text, his breath catching in his throat. The words were a litany of corporate evil, rendered in cold, dispassionate language. *Project Chimera.* It wasn't a prison program. It was an OmniCorp initiative. Blackstone Penitentiary was designated *Prototype Facility Alpha*. The document detailed the entire Essence cultivation system with chilling precision. It wasn't about rehabilitation or even simple punishment. It was about harvesting. Essence was quantified, its extraction rates measured against inmate stress levels, violence, and despair. The Culling wasn't just a purge; it was a harvest season, a mass reaping of refined life-force energy packaged and sold to the highest bidder.
He scrolled faster, his heart hammering against his ribs. The schematics were the worst part. Detailed architectural plans for three new facilities, already in early construction phases in remote locations across the globe. *Facility Beta: The Gobi Desert Anvil. Facility Gamma: The Siberian Abyss. Facility Delta: The Marianas Trench.* Blackstone was just the beginning, a successful proof of concept for a global franchise of human misery. This wasn't about his brother anymore. It wasn't even about vengeance. This was about stopping a plague. The download bar hit one hundred percent. The entire file, every damning byte of Project Chimera, was now encrypted on his datapad. A small victory, but it felt like holding a lit fuse in a powder keg.
The datapad vibrated, a secure channel opening to Anya. "Barrett! What's happening? The whole system is going into lockdown! I'm trapped in the hideout!" Her voice was tight with panic, the usual cool composure shattered by the shriek of alarms in her background.
"I have it," Barrett said, his voice low and steady, a stark contrast to the chaos. "Project Chimera. It's OmniCorp. They're planning to build more of these things."
A moment of stunned silence. "My god," she whispered. "It's bigger than we thought. But what do we do now? The lockdown… the Culling… it's not scheduled for another week."
"The Warden changed the schedule," Barrett said, his mind racing. "He knew. He was waiting for us to make our move. Eirik. Where is he?"
"Last I tracked, he was heading for the auxiliary server conduit in Sub-Level 3. He was going to try and hijack the primary uplink to the Penitentiary Authority."
"Get me a line to him. Now."
***
Miles away, but in a world of concrete and steel that felt infinitely more distant, Eirik moved like a phantom. The riot in Sector Gamma was a beast roaring in the distance, a cacophony of shouts, gunfire, and the wet thud of violence that provided the perfect cover. He had slipped through the chaos, his knowledge of Blackstone's forgotten arteries serving him well. He was now in Sub-Level 3, a maintenance labyrinth of humming servers, thick bundles of cable, and the acrid smell of ozone and hot metal. The air was cold here, recycled and sterile, a stark contrast to the blood-soaked heat of the prison above.
He found the auxiliary conduit exactly where the old schematics said it would be, hidden behind a false panel bearing the faded logo of a company that hadn't existed in fifty years. The panel was open, revealing a complex nest of fiber-optic cables and a diagnostic port. He pulled out a custom-built interface, a jury-rigged marvel of stolen parts and Anya's genius, and plugged it in. His datapad flickered to life, displaying the server architecture. He was in. Now came the hard part.
His goal was to find the master control for the prison's external communications array and hijack it. If he could time it right, he could use the massive energy surge of the Culling's activation to boost a signal, blasting Barrett's data directly to the Penitentiary Authority's main server. It was a long shot, a desperate gamble, but it was the only play they had left. He navigated through layers of security, his fingers a blur on the screen. He found the uplink protocol, a heavily encrypted channel labeled *OmniCorp Corporate Relay*. It was a dead end. He couldn't punch through from here. He needed a local override, a master key that would grant him administrator privileges for the entire facility.
He searched the directory tree, his frustration mounting. There. A file labeled *Biometric Access Protocol – Tier 0*. He opened it. The schematic was simple, elegant, and horrifying. The final key wasn't a password. It wasn't a piece of hardware he could clone. It was a living key. A biometric signature, linked directly to the Warden's own unique Essence signature. The system was designed so that only the Warden, the master of the harvest, could initiate the final, most critical functions. The only way to get the key was to take it from him. To get his hand, his eye, his very presence, at the exact moment of the Culling's peak energy output.
A cold dread settled in Eirik's gut. The plan had just changed from a digital heist to a direct assassination. He was about to message Barrett when the alarms blared. Not the general alert for the riot, but the high-pitched, bone-chilling shriek of a full-scale lockdown. Red lights flashed, bathing the server room in a hellish glow. Heavy blast doors slammed shut somewhere in the distance, the sound echoing like the finality of a tomb sealing. He was trapped.
His datapad buzzed. Barrett. "Eirik, report."
"The lockdown's got me," Eirik said, his voice grim. "I'm in the server room. And I've got bad news. The access key… it's biometric. It's tied to the Warden. We can't hack it. We have to take it from him. Physically."
There was a pause on the other end, filled with the sound of the klaxon. "I know," Barrett's voice came back, strained but resolute. "He just told me himself."
***
Back in the corridor outside the Warden's office, Barrett stared at the main screen on the wall, which had flickered back to life. The Warden's face filled it once more, but this time, he wasn't looking at a camera. He was looking directly at Barrett, his gaze seeming to penetrate the very door that separated them. The background behind him was not his office, but a high-tech command center, a nerve center of monitors and readouts. He was somewhere else, somewhere safe, conducting his symphony of destruction.
"An impressive attempt, Officer Kane," the Warden's voice, calm and clear, emanated from the terminal's speakers, overriding the blare of the alarm. "You and your little band of ghosts have been more entertaining than I anticipated. But the experiment requires control. And it's time to cull the herd."
Barrett's hand tightened on his datapad. He had the data. He had the proof. But he was a rat in a trap, and the exterminator was enjoying his work.
"You think this changes anything?" Barrett snarled, his voice barely audible over the alarm. "The world will know what you're doing. OmniCorp will burn."
The Warden let out a soft, dry chuckle, a sound utterly devoid of humor. "OmniCorp? You think this is about them? They are investors, Mr. Kane. Patrons of the arts. I am the artist. This facility, this system… it is my masterpiece. And you, with your quaint notions of justice and revenge, are simply a fascinating flaw in the design. One that I am now going to correct."
He raised his hand, a simple, almost casual gesture. On the screens behind him, Barrett could see live feeds from all over the prison. Inmates screaming as automated systems activated. In some sectors, a pale, shimmering gas began to hiss from vents in the floor and ceiling. Essence-draining fog. In others, the walls themselves seemed to pulse with a malevolent energy. The Culling wasn't just a purge. It was an active hunt.
"Lockdown initiated," a disembodied voice announced over the PA system, the Warden's voice, pre-recorded and omnipresent. "Culling protocol engaged. God help you all."
The Warden's eyes, pale and grey like chips of flint, locked onto Barrett's through the screen. "Let the games begin, ghost. Let's see how long you can haunt my house."
The screen went black. Barrett was left in the flashing red gloom, the sound of the alarm a relentless pulse. He had the file. He had the truth. But he was trapped in a prison that had just become an active harvesting ground, with the most powerful man in the facility as his personal hunter. The plan was in ruins. The gambit had failed. Now, all that was left was survival.