Chapter 7: Director Vale
The retreat was too quiet.
Victor stood under a hanging banner that read “Awaken the Mind, Heal the Body”, but the silence whispered something else—control. He adjusted the collar of his jacket and glanced toward Selene, who was already moving like she belonged here. She wore the identity of "Aria Lang," just another wellness junkie seeking peace. Her file—fabricated with disturbing precision—showed trauma, addiction, recovery. The perfect cover.
The perfect bait.
Victor had slipped in under the name “Michael Crane.” Ex-military, PTSD, soul-searching. A man looking to heal.
The receptionist didn’t ask questions. Of course she didn’t. The place was a front.
Inside the compound, everything was minimal. Soft colors. No sharp angles. Nothing that could trigger panic or memories. Just the slow drone of pan flutes and organic tea.
They stayed in separate rooms. Monitored, but not tightly. These people thought they were gods.
Selene found the first clue—Director Vale’s office. Off-limits. Buried in the northern wing, behind a biometric door.
They watched him from afar. An old man in flowing robes, a calming voice that belonged on meditation apps. But Victor saw past the illusion. This man had overseen Project Eleven. He had ordered memory wipes, trauma implants, behavioral controls. And he had signed off on Subject Eleven’s disposal.
Selene’s disposal.
The ghosts in her head grew louder the closer she got to him.
On the third day, Victor triggered the breach.
He faked a panic attack during a morning yoga session. Screamed, collapsed, shook violently. The staff surrounded him, trying to sedate him. But Selene used the distraction. Slipped past two guards, accessed the staff corridor, and made it to the biometric door.
She didn’t hack it.
She remembered.
A pattern. A code. Something left behind, buried in her old self.
The scanner flashed green.
She was in.
Victor bought time by knocking out the doctor who tried to inject him. Then he disappeared—silent and cold as vapor.
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By the time the alert went out, they were already inside Vale’s office.
It was minimalist. Desk. Chair. A zen garden on a polished table. No photos. No awards. Just silence.
And Vale.
He sat in lotus position, eyes closed. Breathing.
He didn’t flinch as they entered.
“I wondered how long it would take,” he said softly. “I’d hoped you would be stronger, Subject Eleven.”
Selene raised her gun. Her hand trembled.
“Don’t,” Victor said.
But not to her.
To Vale.
The old man opened his eyes. Cold. Gray. Deep.
“You remember, don’t you?” he asked Selene. “The screams. The conditioning. The name they gave you: Seraph. You were my favorite. So broken. So… promising.”
“Shut up,” Selene said. “You ruined me.”
“I remade you.”
Victor moved closer, gun loose in his grip.
“You used her. Used all of them. And when they failed, you erased them.”
Vale looked at him. And smiled.
“You were never supposed to survive, Victor. You were an accident. An infection. You don’t belong in this equation.”
Victor crouched in front of him. “I’m the variable they couldn’t calculate.”
Vale nodded slowly. “Indeed. And now you bring my precious Seraph here to end me?”
“She’s not Seraph,” Victor said. “She’s Selene.”
Vale turned to her again. “No. She’s still mine. Let me show you.”
He reached under his robe. Victor fired, grazing his arm. Vale laughed—blood dripping, but still smiling.
Selene staggered.
She heard something in her mind—whispers like old recordings.
> “Breathe, Seraph. Breathe. Your pain is power. Trust the voice.”
Her gun lowered. Her breath shortened. She stared at Vale, trembling.
Victor moved, but Vale spoke again, fast—trigger words.
> “Open the gate. Remember. Protocol Theta-IX.”
Selene gasped. Her knees buckled.
Victor caught her.
“Selene. Look at me. Not him. Me.”
Her eyes flickered.
> “He’s not real,” Vale hissed. “I am your architect. I made you.”
Victor gripped her face. “Then I’ll break you free.”
He kissed her. Not out of passion, but as a jolt—a disruption.
She flinched, gasped—
And woke up.
Her gun snapped up.
Vale’s smile faltered for the first time.
“You’ve lost,” Selene said.
And shot him.
Once in the leg.
Then the other.
She walked up and aimed at his chest.
Vale bled, breathing hard. “You don’t have it in you.”
She pulled the trigger.
The shot echoed, loud and sharp. Blood soaked into his robes.
He slumped.
Alive. Barely.
Victor nodded. “Pain before death. It suits him.”
She stared at Vale’s twitching body. “He won’t talk?”
Victor smiled coldly. “He already has.”
They searched the room. Found a hidden panel behind the zen garden. Inside—hard drives. Files. Photos. Names.
Project Eleven wasn’t the end.
There was more.
Project Twelve.
A new list.
Victor found a familiar name.
His own.
Marked again.
Target: V.
Priority: Immediate Termination.
Selene stood behind him, silent.
“What now?” she asked.
Victor lit a match.
“Now we burn it all.”
And they did.
Every file.
Every secret.
Every piece of Vale’s kingdom.
But one drive stayed in Victor’s pocket.
He wasn’t done.
Not yet.
Outside, the night was cold. Stars invisible behind city smog.
Victor looked at Selene. “You okay?”
She hesitated.
Then: “No. But I’m free.”
He nodded. That was enough.
For now.
But as they disappeared into the night, a camera—deep inside the compound—blinked on. A voice crackled through a hidden speaker.
“Subject Twelve has engaged. Activate Ghost Protocol.”
The hunt wasn’t over.
It had just begun.
