Apocalypse Days: I Rule with Foresight and a Powerful Son
Chapter 174

Chapter 174: 174

The halls were too quiet for this hour.

Winter moved quickly, keeping to the darker corners of the corridors, the manila folder tucked tightly beneath his jacket. He avoided the wider intersections, stepping softly past flickering lights and security cameras he already knew the blind spots of.

Winter’s footsteps echoed down the narrow corridor, his mind still churning with the information from Zara. He hadn’t expected the file to contain so much.

Genetic warfare, weaponization, manipulation... how hadn’t they thought that far? it was everything they feared, and then some. Now, Subject 17 had been moved, which shattered the fragile plan they’d been working on.

He reached the barracks on the edge of the restricted housing wing in under five minutes.

The door to Bale’s unit was already cracked open. Weird, considering how much sensitive information he had in there.

Winter could hear hushed voices inside—sharp, clipped. Preparing.

"Almost there," Bale was muttering, his voice a hard-edged whisper. "Another five minutes and we’d have been ghosted."

"You sure about that?" Harlow replied, it sounded like he was shoving a duffel onto his shoulder. "The gate shifts in twelve. We miss that, it’s another twenty-four."

Winter knocked once and pushed it open.

Harlow spun around first, pistol half-raised before his expression shifted into shock. "Shit—Winter?"

Bale stood behind him, halfway through buckling the last strap on his field vest. "You’re back early," he said warily.

They hadn’t expected him back so soon.

"I thought you were watching the labs until rotation. You’re not due back for another hour." Harlow lowered the weapon but didn’t relax.

"We have a problem," Winter said flatly. "A big one."

Bale narrowed his eyes. "What kind of problem?"

"The kind that throws out every single plan we had," Winter said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. He shrugged off his jacket, pulled out the folder, and set it on the metal table in the middle of the room.

Harlow moved closer, brows furrowed. Bale didn’t take his eyes off Winter.

"I just came from my space. Thought I could clean up before heading there," Winter added. "My partner..."

Bale and Harlow looked at him intently.

"What happened to them?" Harlow asked, eyes narrowing slightly as he remembered the woman who had been full of fire during the breach.

"She’s fine," Winter raked his hand through his hair. "She snuck into the labs again."

Bale swore. "Alone?"

"Again?" Harlow arched an eyebrow, pearly struggling between amusement and disbelief.

"Yeah," Winter said. "And before you say anything, yes she’s crazy but—she got something." He nodded towards the file on the table.

Harlow moved to his side, eyes scanning the spilt sheets. "What is this?"

Winter flipped to the tagged report. "Medical files. Research notes. Transport orders. Information on the so-called subject Seventeen."

Both of them froze at the name.

Bale crossed the room in three quick strides. "You found Subject Seventeen?"

"No," Winter said. "They did."

That made the silence heavier.

"Fuck," Harlow sighed heavily.

Winter tapped the page. "From what she told me, she overheard Adrian himself talking about it. It’s being moved. Tonight. Which means it’s not running loose anymore. It means containment succeeded. It means the chaos we were counting on as cover is over."

"Shit," Bale muttered, sitting heavily in the nearest chair. "Do I really have the right to call myself a military officer? With all this bullshit going on right under my nose?"

Winter could almost sympathise with him, it must have been hard knowing your comrades were fighting on a different field from you.

Harlow leaned forward. "What else do the files say?"

Winter’s voice turned grim. "It’s not just a cure they’re working on like we thought. It’s a mutation. Adaptation. They’ve been splicing the infection with human DNA. Selective immunity. Growth patterns. Stabilization."

He flipped to the other sheet—diagrams and notes scrawled in coded medical shorthand.

"They’re trying to control it," he added. "Weaponize it."

Bale rubbed both hands down his face. "This doesn’t make sense. Who the hell do they want to fight with? The other countries? Everyone’s already in hell. Plus, that kind of tech—hell, even the idea of a stabilized strain—it’s too unstable. It burns through hosts. We’ve seen that."

"Not if they’ve found a way to slow the burn," Harlow said, scanning the page, his voice dropping. "Jesus... if this is right, they’re not just suppressing symptoms. They’re rewriting immune response patterns. Modifying the brain’s tolerance to the agent."

Winter nodded. "And Subject Seventeen is the prototype. That’s why they can’t bear to lose it."

They all went quiet again.

"So much for our grand plans." Harlow groaned.

"We can’t pull out now," Bale said after a long moment. "But we also can’t rely on the original strategy. If the perimeter won’t be in lockdown..."

"Then we’re going to have a fully alert security sweep instead," Winter finished.

He turned away from the table, pacing a slow line to the far wall. "We were counting on chaos. Now they’re going to double the guard, reinforce containment, and probably transfer the research files and samples to black sites where we’ll never see them again."

Bale’s jaw tightened. "How long do we have?"

"Hours, maybe. Depends on how far along they are in transport prep." Winter turned back. "We either act now... or we’re done."

"And what’s the play?" Harlow asked. "We can’t fake another breach. Not without Subject Seventeen loose. And we don’t know where they’re taking it."

"We have the transfer ID," Winter said. "Zara overheard enough to know it’s an offsite black lab. Likely the North Wing convoy route. That gives us a possible exit point—but it’s high-risk."

Bale stood. "We need more than guesses. And I’m not throwing our people into a dead zone unless we’ve got a clear shot."

Winter looked between them. "Then we find a new target."

"What do you mean?" Harlow asked.

"They can’t be moving just moving Subject Seventeen," Winter said. "They’re moving data, too. And physical samples. They’ll split the transport across multiple groups for security. If we can’t get the Subject—we get the files. Or better yet, the handler escorting it. Someone high enough to have access codes."

"Why not just go for the Subject?" Harlow said suddenly, straightening. "If it’s the key to everything—why not make the play for the actual prize instead of dancing around it?"

Winter looked at him evenly. "Because the Subject isn’t a prize. It’s a bomb. One wrong move and it detonates—literally or metaphorically. You want to carry a volatile hybrid into enemy territory, be my guest. I’d rather grab the blueprint to the bomb than drag the bomb itself out of the vault."

Harlow grumbled something under his breath but nodded.

Winter continued, "We use that distraction to target the handler when their guard’s down."

"You’re suggesting we intercept a handler?" Bale’s voice was sharp with disbelief. "In the middle of an armed military base?"

"I’m suggesting," Winter said, "we use what little window we have to throw them off balance. We can’t kidnap the subject, that’s too much of a risk. The Subject’s being moved. That’s going to occupy half the command’s attention. We use that distraction to target the handler when their guard’s down."

"Even if we get them," Harlow said, "we still need extraction. We don’t have clearance that deep."

Winter’s mouth tightened. "We’ll make clearance."

Bale crossed his arms. "And if this handler resists?"

"We make them talk," Winter said. "Preferably without gunfire. But if it comes to that—"

"We’ve already crossed the line," Harlow said softly. "Might as well finish the job."

He picked up one of the pages again, his jaw tight. "God. If this is real... If they’ve actually found a way to mutate the infection without immediate necrosis—what happens when this gets into the wrong hands?"

Bale’s voice was low. "We’re already the wrong hands."

They all fell into a tense silence again. Winter finally stepped back, folding his arms across his chest.

"We make a new plan. Tonight. We intercept the handler, extract the data, and vanish before they realize who hit them."

"That’s a hell of a gamble," Bale said.

"I’m done playing safe," Winter answered. "Safe already cost us too much. I know people we can call." He saw the way Bale’s brows furrowed and quickly added. "They’re already in the military. We aren’t bringing people we dont need."

There was a quiet knock on the door.

All three turned sharply—hands hovering near weapons.

Bale moved first, crossing to the door and peering through the slit.

He relaxed slightly. "It’s Nolan. From logistics."

He opened the door enough for a hushed conversation. Nolan whispered something urgently—too fast to catch—before handing over a slip of paper and disappearing again.

Bale shut the door, locking it tight.

"North Wing confirmation," he said, holding up the note. "Apparently there a convoy rolling out at 0200. That’s four hours from now."

Winter exhaled slowly.

Four hours.

Four hours to rewire everything they thought they knew. Four hours to plan an intercept.

Four hours to either blow the lid off the most dangerous experiment in the facility... or disappear trying.

But that wasn’t an option for him, he had people waiting for him to return.

The thought made his brows furrow. He probably won’t be returning tonight again. Zara was going to be so pissed at him.

"We don’t get another shot after this," Bale said, looking between them.

"I know," Winter said.

"And if this goes sideways, we burn for it."

"I know."

Harlow looked at the folder again, brows knitting. "Then let’s make it count."

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