July 4th, 2021
1830 hours
Garcia's feet slipped on the platform as he ran, his muscles and joints aching with the pace he struggled to keep. His brain kicked into fight mode, body tense and expectant, unsure of what he'd find when he entered the offices. His head was on constant swivel as he ran, and time slowed, making the brief sprint feel like eons, until he found himself at the bottom of the steps leading to the level above. He eased to one side, bracing on the rail, as he slowly ascended, drawing his weapon. As his alert eyes leveled with the next riser, he quickly checked his points: nine, twelve, and three. He knew his six was covered, having observed nobody else on the platform on his way across it. The only thing behind him were two well trained agents and a couple of idiots strapped in irons.
The doors directly in front of him, leading to the office suites, were closed. He crept up the last steps, again checking his peripherals and blind spots before he eased up catty corner to the doors. Keeping his pistol trained on them, he used his other hand to gently turn the knob. The hinges creaked as he cracked it, and he drew in a nervous breath, listening for any sounds within the dark corridors. Nothing met his ears, so he slowly opened the door the rest of the way, sliding his body to the right, propping it open on his back as he cleared the entry hall.
The red security lights were on, but the main power was shut off. Lynne probably tripped the breaker before her attempted escape. He cursed and turned on his weapon mounted light, briefly disoriented by the sudden brightness. Again, he cleared the hall, which was dead silent. Turning to his right, he observed the security office door was hanging on broken hinges and riddled with bullet holes.
Tentatively, he crept up to the frame, keeping as much of his chunky body under cover as possible. His light illuminated the small space, and as his sure feet pulled him into the room, the toe of his left boot bumped into something solid, nearly sending him falling. He chanced a perfunctory glance down, his eyes narrowing as he made out the silhouette of a human body.
"Shit." He cursed, stepping over it and clearing the rest of the room. Turning, he closed the door to prevent anyone from sneaking up on him before he knelt next to the body. It was facedown, the features covered in so much blood he couldn't tell who it was. He gently checked for a pulse, but found none, before reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief. Solemnly, he carefully tilted the head, wiping the face, turning away as he recognized the person. He grimaced, reaching for his radio, and shook his head sadly.
"Garcia to Quinn." His voice came out raspier than usual, his dead comrade just feet from him.
"Quinn." The tone was cold through the static.
"Winters is down. He's been shot. No vitals." Garcia spoke quickly, ready for instruction from the agent.
"Barnes?" Came an even colder response.
"M.I.A." Garcia grumbled, aware that his deputy might be dead as well, or possibly a murderer, neither of those a reality he was ready to face.
"Find him." Quinn's arctic, heartless growl sounded even more sinister through the radio.
"I'm on it." Garcia flipped off the contact, not eager to prowl the dark halls, but Winters deserved justice for his death, and his deputy needed to be found.
He opened the door quietly, which was no easy feat since it was teetering on nearly severed hinges. He went over his protocol as he emerged: hall cleared, check. He adopted a slow, steady pace as he moved in a crouched stance down the hall to his right, making sure each office was clear as he progressed.
He reached a junction, not sure which one to follow, until a noise to his left caused him to back behind the wall, seeking concealment, as he listened to the disruption. It sounded like footsteps, and they got lighter, indicating whomever they belonged to was walking away from him. He peeked around the corner, weapon still drawn, and began creeping down that hall. He turned off the flashlight in case it was an ambush.
It struck him odd that he hadn't run into a single person. This time of day there should still be roughnecks wandering about, but he'd seen not a soul. That realization sent a frightening, foreboding tingle down his spine. He shoved it off and continued, passing the mess hall, which was also eerily empty. At the next junction, he couldn't make out what was down the halls to the left or the right.
If the mess hall was behind him, that mean the barracks could be to the left, which he could go clear, but since there weren't any workers present, he doubted that's where he'd find Barnes. Turning right, he noticed a faint, green glow coming from a crack in the wall. Hesitantly, he advanced, keeping his eyes and pistol on the section of wall.
As he edged closer, he could see it was a hidden door of some sort that, when closed, would seamlessly blend into the wall. In his experience, secret rooms never boded well, and his entire being screamed at him to run.
He forced his hand to inch up and lightly push on the panel. It swung inward, but not enough for him to see. Wary, he eased it open a bit more, still trying to make out the room beyond. Unfortunately, he wouldn't be able to until he opened the damn thing all the way, which made uneasy.
Swallowing the lump in his throat, heart pounding wildly, he wretched it inwardly, quickly stepping into the mysterious space. Luckily, there was a large computer and desk that shielded him from view, but it also obscured his line of sight to what lie beyond. Slowly, he edged around the machine, pistol steady as he quickly scanned the space.
Computers, machines, and lab equipment were to his right, and directly in front of him, past the low pipes and exhaust valves, sat a suspended tank of some kind. In the dim, greenish glow the dark silhouette of a person was visible, pressed up against the tank, as if the person was staring into it.
"Hands in the air!" Garcia barked loudly, training his gun on the subject. They turned slowly, and his breath caught in his throat as their features became illuminated in the glow.
"Barnes?" He breathed in disbelief, taking in the sandy hair and freckled, boyish face.
"You caught me." The deputy grinned, cocking his head to the side.
"What the hell happened?" Garcia rushed, stepping down gingerly from the platform, his boots knocking into pipes as he descended.
"Winters is dead." Barnes sounded discombobulated, his voice strange and airy, as he spoke.
"Yeah, I know." Garcia's heart ached with premonition: he knew what would come next, and he wasn't sure he was ready to do what he needed to do.
"I didn't want to," Barnes met his eyes and Garcia flinched. Pure indifference gazed back at him, almost admiringly. He had no idea his deputy was so unhinged.
"Why did you do it?" Garcia took another step toward Barnes, who seemed to not notice his advance. He'd glanced back at the tank, eyeing whatever was down there that Garcia still couldn't see.
"He found out." Barnes' awestruck, low voice carried a short way, almost inaudible over the hum of the machinery.
"What are you talking about?" Garcia frowned, genuinely confused. The last time he was on the rig, Winters and Barnes had taken over security while they went ashore and got some shut eye.
"He caught me trying to steal the case files." Barnes answered, as if it were obvious.
"You're a mole." Garcia confirmed, narrowing his eyes. "You sold us out." Anger flared in the pit of his stomach; surely, Quinn was aware of that development. The insufferable agent never missed a beat. Frustration filled Garcia as he realized Quinn had screwed him over by withholding that speculation, because now he either had to arrest his own deputy or kill him.
Barnes laughed, a chilly, wicked laugh that sent Garcia's arm hair standing up. "What did you expect, Lieutenant? Loyalty?" He rotated his head back around, hostility clouding his eyes as he stared down his boss. "Loyalty to whom? A department that doesn't give a shit about me?"
"Barnes-" Garcia tried to intervene before it got out of hand. The longer the deputy talked, the more his anger would manifest, and Garcia needed to quelch it before the point it exploded.
"Fuck you, Lieutenant." Barnes sneered, gesturing back to the container. "I found something that will make me rich."
"I have to take you in." Garcia eased forward a few more feet, now just a meter from his deputy. They stared down one another, neither blinking.
"I know you'll do what you have to." Barnes said, leaning forward, his hands twitching. Garcia braced himself for physical contact. In his experience, the body language Barnes exhibited meant that one of two things was about to happen. Either Barnes was going to split, or he would try to fight his way out. Neither of the scenarios would end well, but Garcia was more than prepared for that.
In hindsight, he wished he'd given more credence to the academy's training. Barnes was younger, fresher, and a lot spryer than himself, so when he lunged forward forcefully, Garcia wasn't as ready as he assumed. The smaller frame slamming into his large one knocked him off balance and he flew back, landing on the pipes with a metallic thump. His lungs constricted with the weight of the deputy's chest on his, breath bursting out in a painful huff.
He struggled to shove the deputy off him, but Barnes was a dead man now, and had nothing to lose. His desperation made him the most dangerous animal Garcia would ever encounter. Realizing this, Garcia thrust his hips up, bucking Barnes off of him, and shimmied to the side, trying to extricate himself from the hold. Barnes flailed his arms in a wild attempt to grab Garcia's firearm.
Garcia grunted, desperate for breath, knocking the deputy in the side of the head with his offhand. Barnes grunted in pain, continuing to thrash on top of the lieutenant's lower half, hands grabbing for the gun. Garcia tried to headbutt him, but his inferior was too far away, and the small change of distance was all Barnes needed to wrap his hand around Garcia's, his fingers weaving into the one holding the pistol, squeezing them painfully against the metal.
Garcia howled, yanking his arm back, but Barnes held on with a vice like grip, frantic to disarm him. They struggled for a moment, bodies writhing on the pipes in attempt to gain the advantage over the other, until Garcia's finger stroked the trigger and an earsplitting bang fired off, echoing excruciatingly in the small, reverberating metal room. A crack and shattering of glass instantaneously followed the gunshot, the tank in the corner exploding as the pressure from the water inside tried to escape from the small hole left by the bullet.
Barnes' eyes grew wide, turning to look at the space where the top of the tank had been, and Garcia took the opportunity to flip the deputy over, pinning him on his stomach against the pipes. Sweaty, heaving and out of breath, he slapped his cuffs on his protégé, not sad in the least with having to do so.
"Get up, you piece of shit." He growled, but Barnes was whimpering, staring in horror at the remains of the holding tank. "What is it?" He started, words dying as he turned, a terrifying sight meeting his eyes.
Wet, slapping sounds came from the tank as giant, clawed feet crawled up the shattered glass side, the dark talons using the fractures to grasp onto. The sight nearly made Garcia shit himself, because the clawed appendages were followed by a monstrous, scaley body. An animalistic growl emitted from the creature as it emerged, the reptilian head turning to look at them through a pair of sick, yellow eyes.