An architectural behemoth of cold concrete and mirrored glass with no color in sight.
Zinc Pharmaceuticals Company, often shortened to Zinc Co.
“You should know, none of us had much choice,” Tulio says when I turn off the engine. He’s finally stopped sniveling, though his fingers still tug away at the button on his shirt sleeve. “We were doing what we had to do to survive. Nero?—”
“There is always a fucking choice,” I interrupt coldly. “You have a choice whether to be a coward and give in or be brave and face the consequences. You have all been cowards, and that will not be forgotten or forgiven. Let’s go.”
We get out of the vehicle and approach the tall iron gates.
The company is closed today, considering it’s a weekend, but Tulio has an access badge he uses to scan us through.
The gates groan open with a mechanical crank that echoes across the deserted facilities. Tulio glances at me uncertainly. I motion for him to continue, making no effort to hide the guns strapped to my hips.
We enter to silence, our footsteps the only sound on the premises.
I’ve only been here once many years ago when my father insisted on giving me a tour.
The place has hardly changed—the floors are polished, the color scheme monochromatic and dull, the air itself permanently cool and smelling of industrial bleach.
Tulio walks a couple paces ahead. He gestures toward the directional signage mounted to the wall as we pass them. I glance at each one, making a mental note of what they say.
Left for Human Testing—East Wing.
Right for Pharmaceutical Analysis.
Straight ahead for Executive Access.
“They do most of the biowork on the lower levels,” Tulio explains, avoiding my gaze. “That corridor leads to the restricted test rooms. Past that is the gene mapping center and the cryo-bay.”
“And Nero’s office?” I ask, already knowing the answer but forcing him to say it.
“Top floor. Private elevator. No one else has access—except a few like me, technically.”
“Then take me to him.”
“He won’t be here. It’s Saturday?—”
“I said take me to him. I want to see his fucking office!”
Tulio dares not deny me a second time. He presses the call button, and the elevator doors shudder open for us.
In order to access the top floor, he has to scan his badge again. By how red his neck turns, it’s obvious he’s nervous, wondering if he’ll wind up in trouble with Nero next.
But it doesn’t fucking matter what happens to Tulio. He was just a puppet. Just the medical doctor my father and Nero used to experiment on me.
I’m looking for true revenge… after I ensure Nevaeh is safe and sound.
When the doors slide open again, we’re greeted by a long corridor that feels more like a mausoleum than a corporate floor. The lights overhead flicker, casting patches of shadow that stretch ominously across the slate flooring.
Tulio sets off down the hall with me half a pace behind. “Even if this is where Nero keeps the lockbox, you’ll never be able to access it without the key.”
“What have I told you?” I snarl. “Shut the fuck up unless I ask you a question.”
We’re coming down the hall when I catch onto another voice on the floor. It’s coming from the only door which is partially ajar—the one that bears Nero’s name.
I recognize the smooth East Coast Italian accent right away. I’ve spent most of my life listening to my cousin.
“Yeah, yeah… I told you, if this works, we’ll make out like fat cats,” Carmelo explains to the person on the other end of the phone. “All three of us. Nero thinks he’s running the show, but we’ve got the press on standby and the investors lined up. We’re golden.”
