Chapter 18: Crossed Knives — Part 1
The workshop looked different at night.
I arrived at 11 PM, an hour before the agreed meeting time. Dexter's instincts demanded preparation—scouting approaches, identifying escape routes, positioning advantages. The M99 syringe sat in my pocket, loaded and ready. A knife pressed against my ankle, hidden beneath my cargo pants.
[LOADOUT CHECK]
[M99: 1 DOSE]
[BLADE: ACCESSIBLE]
[BACKUP WEAPON: NONE]
[ASSESSMENT: ADEQUATE FOR AMBUSH, INADEQUATE FOR PROLONGED CONFRONTATION]
The building's front door was unlocked. An invitation or a trap—probably both. I pushed it open and stepped inside.
Lights were on this time. The fluorescent banks hummed overhead, illuminating the workspace with clinical brightness. The freezers still lined the far wall. The tools still hung in perfect order. But something had changed.
A chair sat in the center of the room. Heavy. Metal. Bolted to the floor.
Restraints hung from its arms and legs.
"He's not planning to talk," Harry's voice was tight with warning. "That chair is for you."
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: ACTIVATED]
[MULTIPLE ANOMALIES DETECTED]
[CHAIR: NEW ADDITION]
[RESTRAINTS: PROFESSIONAL GRADE]
[LIGHTING: ALTERED FROM PREVIOUS VISIT]
[CONCLUSION: AMBUSH PREPARED]
I should have left. Every instinct screamed to retreat, regroup, find another approach. But Brian was escalating. The engagement. The timeline compression. If I didn't end this now, Debra would be next.
"I know you're here," I called into the empty space. "No point hiding."
Silence. The freezers hummed. The lights buzzed. Nothing else moved.
I advanced slowly, checking each shadow, each blind spot. The tripwire from my previous visit was still in place, but I knew where it was now. I stepped over it carefully and continued toward the workbench.
Something reflected in the steel surface. Movement. Behind me.
I spun, M99 already in hand—
The sting hit my neck before I could react.
Not M99. Something faster. Something that dropped me to my knees before I could complete my turn. The syringe fell from my nerveless fingers and clattered across the concrete floor.
"Ketamine," Brian's voice came from somewhere above me. "Faster onset than your M99. Less precise, but effective."
[SYSTEM ALERT: HOST INCAPACITATED]
[MOTOR FUNCTION: FAILING]
[CONSCIOUSNESS: COMPROMISED]
[EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS: ACTIVATING]
I tried to stand. My legs buckled. The room tilted sideways as I collapsed, concrete cold against my cheek. Footsteps approached—measured, unhurried, confident.
Brian's face swam into view. He crouched beside me, expression almost tender.
"You're predictable, brother. Harry trained you too well. I knew exactly where you'd check, how you'd move, when you'd let your guard down." He reached out and brushed hair from my forehead. "I've been studying you for years. Did you think a few weeks of surveillance would even the odds?"
I tried to speak. My jaw wouldn't cooperate.
"Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you." He smiled—the warm, boyfriend-appropriate smile that Debra loved. "Not yet. First, we need to talk. Really talk. About what we are. What we could be. What Harry stole from us."
Hands gripped my arms. Dragged me across the floor toward the chair. I fought to stay conscious, to find some reserve of strength the drug hadn't claimed, but my body refused to respond.
[CONSCIOUSNESS: 23%]
[MOTOR CONTROL: 0%]
[RESISTANCE: IMPOSSIBLE]
[STATUS: CAPTURED]
"You visited my workshop," Brian continued as he lifted me into the chair. Straps cinched around my wrists. My ankles. My chest. "I knew you would. The tripwire wasn't really a trap—just a notification system. I've been watching the security feed since you left."
He stepped back to admire his work. I sagged against the restraints, unable to hold myself upright.
"You photographed everything. Very thorough. Very professional. Harry would approve." His smile turned cold. "But you made a mistake. You thought this was still a game. Reconnaissance. Planning. The careful approach."
He leaned close, his breath warm against my ear.
"It was never a game, brother. It was always war. And I just won."
The darkness at the edges of my vision expanded. My eyes wouldn't focus. Brian's face became a blur, a shadow, a memory.
"Rest now," he said softly. "When you wake up, we'll be somewhere special. Somewhere that will help you understand what we really are."
[CONSCIOUSNESS: 8%]
[EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS: FAILING]
[LAST COHERENT THOUGHT: I UNDERESTIMATED HIM]
The last thing I felt before the darkness took me was the cold of the workshop floor seeping through my clothes. So cold. Like a shipping container. Like a grave.
Like coming home.
[SYSTEM STATUS: EMERGENCY]
[HOST INCAPACITATED]
[LOCATION: UNKNOWN]
[CAPTOR: BRIAN MOSER]
[THREAT TO HOST: EXTREME]
[RECOMMENDED ACTION: AWAIT RECOVERY, REASSESS OPTIONS]
[CURRENT PRIORITY: SURVIVAL]
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