Beyond the Ordinary

Chapter 3 – The Shadow File

The hum of surveillance monitors filled the underground facility, a rhythmic buzz of electricity and secrets. Gordon sat alone in the observation room, the faint reflection of his face distorted in the dark glass.

He hadn’t slept. His thoughts flickered between Sophia’s pulse beneath his hands and the sniper’s bullet meant for him.

The door opened quietly. Agent Hale entered, holding two paper cups of coffee. “They said you like it black,” he muttered, setting one on the table.

“I didn’t say I wanted it,” Gordon replied.

Hale smirked. “I figured you’d say that.”

Silence stretched. The monitors across the wall cycled through feeds: the hospital, the city, the media uproar. Every news station in the country was replaying the same clip, Gordon’s glowing hands, the impossible resurrection, the chaos that followed.

“They’re calling you the ‘Miracle Doctor,’” Hale said. “You’ve got fan pages, death threats, religious groups preaching your second coming. All in twelve hours.”

“I never wanted this,” Gordon muttered. “All I ever wanted was to be left alone.”

“Yeah,” Hale said, sipping his coffee, “you and half the people with a secret.”

Gordon shot him a sharp look. “You think I’m lying?”

“I think you’re scared,” Hale said evenly. “And I think you should be.”

The lights dimmed suddenly. A mechanical click echoed through the ceiling. The monitors froze, then glitched, static tearing across every feed. Gordon frowned. “That supposed to happen?”

Hale moved toward the console. “No.”

The static cleared. One screen remained active, not live footage, but a video feed. A woman appeared on it, older, calm, sitting in a dimly lit office. Her face half-shadowed. “Hello, Gordon,” she said softly.

He froze. “Who are you?”

Hale tensed, reaching for his comm, but the signal light blinked red, jammed. “I wouldn’t bother calling them,” the woman continued. “This channel isn’t theirs. It’s mine.”

“Who the hell is this?” Hale demanded.

The woman ignored him. Her gaze was fixed on Gordon, her voice strangely familiar. “You don’t remember me, do you? That’s all right. You were only a child when it began.”

Gordon’s throat tightened. “What began?”

“The experiments,” she said. “Project Lazarus.”

Hale’s expression hardened. “That name doesn’t exist in any file.”

The woman smiled faintly. “That’s because you’re not cleared to see it.”

Gordon stood, heart pounding. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” She leaned closer to the camera. “Why do you think your body reacts the way it does when you heal? Why do you think every life you save takes something from you? You were designed that way.”

Gordon’s voice cracked. “Designed?”

The woman’s tone softened. “You’re not the only one, Gordon. But you’re the only one who survived.”

The feed flickered, distorted, fading. “Wait!” he shouted. “What do you mean survived?”

“Find the others,” she whispered. “Before they find you.”

The screen went black. Hale cursed under his breath, slamming the console. “Son of a,  Who the hell hacked our system?”

Gordon stared at the blank monitor, pulse racing. “She knew my name. She knew everything.”

Hale grabbed his earpiece, frustration boiling. “Control, this is Hale. We’ve been breached, full lock down, now!”

No response. The lights flickered again. A soft hiss filled the room, air vents releasing a faint mist. “Gas,” Hale said instantly, yanking his jacket over his mouth. “Move!”

Gordon stumbled toward the exit, but the door refused to open, magnetic lock engaged. “It’s sealed!”

Hale pulled a sidearm and fired at the panel. Sparks flew, the lock hissed open. They burst into the corridor, alarms blaring. “Containment breach!” someone shouted over the intercom.

Security agents sprinted past them, weapons drawn. Red emergency lights painted the hall like veins of warning. “Where are we going?” Gordon gasped.

“Command center,” Hale said. “Stay close.”

They turned the corner, and froze. A figure stood in the hallway, dressed in black tactical gear, helmet visor reflecting the crimson lights.

A sleek rifle hung from his shoulder, but he didn’t raise it. He just watched them. Hale aimed his gun. “Identify yourself!”

No response. The figure took one slow step forward. Gordon’s pulse quickened. There was something about the way the figure moved, deliberate, almost mechanical. “Don’t,” Hale warned.

Too late. Gordon stepped forward, squinting through the red haze. “Who are you?”

The figure tilted his head slightly, then spoke, voice distorted through the modulator. “Target confirmed. Dr. Gordon Anderson.”

Before Hale could fire, the figure moved, impossibly fast, disarming him with a blur of motion. Hale hit the wall hard, the gun skidding across the floor. Gordon backed away. “What do you want from me?”

“Not you,” the figure said. “Your blood.”

He lunged. Hale intercepted him, slamming the figure against the wall. A struggle erupted, metal against muscle, grunts echoing through the corridor. Hale managed to rip the visor free, and froze.

It wasn’t a man. Or at least, not completely. Half of the face beneath was synthetic, pale skin fused with circuitry, one eye mechanical, whirring faintly. “Jesus Christ,” Hale muttered. “What are you?”

The hybrid’s organic mouth twisted into a grin. “Version before you.”

Then he hurled Hale across the hall like a rag doll. Gordon stumbled backward, heart hammering. “You’re part of Lazarus, aren’t you?”

The hybrid advanced. “Prototype Alpha. You, Final Subject.”

Before he could strike, a sharp crack split the air, a sniper shot from somewhere above. The hybrid’s head jerked sideways, metal fragments scattering as it collapsed in a heap.

Smoke curled from the wound. Hale staggered up, coughing. “That wasn’t one of ours.”

Gordon looked toward the upper walkway, but whoever had fired was already gone. “What the hell is happening, Hale?”

The agent wiped blood from his lip, grabbing his weapon. “I don’t know. But whoever wants you dead… they’ve got inside access.”

Gordon stared at the lifeless hybrid, wires sparking from its skull. You were designed. The woman’s voice echoed in his mind.

He turned to Hale, voice low, steady. “I’m done being your prisoner.”

“You walk out now,” Hale warned, “you won’t make it an hour.”

“Then come with me,” Gordon said. “Because if Project Lazarus is real, this is only the beginning.”

For a moment, Hale said nothing. Then he holstered his weapon, grim resolve in his eyes. “You’d better be worth the trouble, Doc.”

They moved down the smoke-filled corridor together, alarms howling above them, two men running from a secret neither fully understood, as the facility’s lights died one by one behind them.

And somewhere, buried in the system’s flickering servers, a file reactivated, its title blinking faintly: PROJECT LAZARUS – SUBJECT 001 REAWAKENED.