For the Love of Super Soldiers

K is for Kidding

What a hiatus. Probably to continue on and off but we'll endeavor for it not to. Here we are! Thanks for keeping up with FLOSS. 20 chapters in!

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Chapter 20: K is for Kidding

"How's it going?"

I didn't bother to turn my head as a I felt Aaron's presence directly behind me. I had been in the basement for a few hours now, going through folder after folder, sometimes reading and sometimes skimming the files within.

I made a slight grunt in response but didn't actually verbalize anything. Aaron had left me down there to try and sort through the stored files alone, sensing the obvious tension that seemed to be irrevocably paired with Abraham-related topics.

You meant to say, 'every aspect of your life,' the voice corrected.

"I'll assume good," he responded. His hands came to rest on the back of the chair and his lips were at my ear. "How about a break? You've been down here by yourself a little too long."

"I'm not tired," I answered. My eyes were focused on the screens in front of me. The folder 'ForSKB' remained on the desktop in exactly the same manner I had found it—unopened. I had refused to even move the mouse near it before I had searched through all of the others; it couldn't have been the only thing of value in whatever database I had accessed.

Hell, if Abraham had left it, then there was no value to be found, regardless.

I could hear Aaron's eyes rolling in their sockets as he dropped into the seat next to mine, still every bit as graceful as when I had argu—disagreed with him on that rooftop. Annoying.

"That doesn't matter. You've been staring at nothing but screens in the dark for hours. You could use a break and some food," he tacked on for emphasis.

I said nothing. He sighed.

"At least tell me what you've found, then?" I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye and caught a small and uneven smirk on his lips.

"Nothing that appears to have gone beyond standard mission reports and branch paperwork. A lot of the information contained refers to different responses to the infection—before it even reached epidemic status."

No one was going to respond to a national risk of infection faster than the CDC and United States military; that much was clearly true. The reports I had found were proof of that, documenting the first known cases and initiating scientific task forces to begin researching solutions. Nothing short of standard protocol. And yet here we were, living and genetically-modified proof of protocols 'beyond the standard.'

Where were the files on that?

"Obviously. They were working on effecting responses and pharmaceuticals from the beginning. It makes sense that there's documentation on it." Aaron's voice didn't register as condescension, just agreement. "I would expect the work and paper trails reflecting that to be compiled somewhere."

"I agree. But here? In the middle of the south, hidden underneath some decked out motel that also shouldn't be here, let alone be bewilderingly convenient?" I had hoped my voice was registering with doubt and dissatisfaction. Nothing had made sense once the infection really began crossing borders and pervading populations—but in that way, it was normal. Diseases spread. It made even less sense that a centralized database was here of all places. Even if we were talking about the military, this literally well-kept secret defied the levels of secrecy I'd come to expect. It was so simple that it made no sense.

You know your father, Scarlett. He never simply has one plan.

HAD.

Right.