Chapter 6: Into the Fire

The facility sat like a concrete cancer on twenty acres of wooded land, surrounded by electrified fencing and enough security cameras to monitor a small city. Blake and I watched from a ridge half a mile away, using military-grade binoculars he'd produced from sources I didn't question.

"Definitely not a standard research facility," I murmured, counting guard towers and patrol routes.

"Look at the power consumption." Blake pointed to the electrical substations positioned around the perimeter. "That's enough juice to run a small town. Whatever they're doing in there requires serious energy."

We'd been observing for three hours, mapping patrol schedules and identifying weaknesses. The place was designed to keep people in as much as keep them out—multiple layers of security, minimal blind spots, and what looked like a sophisticated electronic surveillance system.

"There," Blake said, focusing his binoculars on a service road leading to the facility's eastern side. "Supply delivery at 1400 hours, right on schedule. Third one today."

"What kind of supplies need that much regular delivery?"

"Medical equipment, maybe. Or..." Blake's voice trailed off as his binoculars tracked a truck leaving the facility. "Kate, look at that truck. The one that just left."

I adjusted my view and felt my blood chill. The truck was unmarked, but its reinforced rear doors and specialized ventilation system looked designed for transporting people, not supplies.

"Prisoner transport," I whispered.

"Or worse. If Lisa's visions are accurate, they're not just holding people—they're moving them. Maybe to other facilities, maybe to..." Blake didn't finish the sentence, but I understood.

Maybe to disposal sites.

My phone vibrated with a text message. Unknown number: Your friend Sarah is asking uncomfortable questions. Would hate for her to meet an accident.

I showed the message to Blake, who swore creatively. "They're escalating. Using your connections as leverage."

"I have to warn her."

"Absolutely not. The moment you make contact, they'll triangulate your position." Blake's voice was firm. "Sarah's smart—she'll figure out to lay low."

"You don't know Sarah. If she thinks I'm in trouble, she'll keep digging until someone stops her permanently."

Before Blake could argue further, his own phone buzzed. He read the message and his face went white.

"What is it?"

"Emergency signal from Lisa. She's in trouble."

We abandoned our surveillance position and raced back toward the city, pushing speed limits and running red lights. Blake had established emergency protocols with Lisa—if she felt threatened, she was to send a specific code word that would trigger immediate extraction.

The code she'd sent was Wildfire—the highest level of danger, meaning she believed capture was imminent.

Lisa's apartment building looked normal from the outside, but Blake insisted we approach carefully. He parked three blocks away, and we covered the remaining distance on foot, using alleys and side streets to avoid main thoroughfares.

"Third floor, apartment 3C," Blake murmured as we climbed the exterior fire escape. "If she's compromised, this could be a trap."

"Only one way to find out."

The window to Lisa's apartment was slightly open—our agreed-upon signal that it was safe to approach. Blake went first, slipping through the opening with practiced silence. I followed, immediately noticing that the sparse furniture had been arranged differently.

Lisa sat in her usual chair by the window, but something was wrong. Her posture was too rigid, her eyes too bright.

"Lisa?" I called softly.

"Kate. Thank God you came." Lisa's voice was calm, controlled—nothing like the frightened woman I'd spoken with earlier. "I wasn't sure you'd get my message in time."

Blake drew his weapon in one smooth motion. "That's not Lisa."

The woman in the chair smiled, and suddenly her features shifted subtly—cheekbones sharpening, hair darkening, eyes changing from brown to green. What I'd taken for Lisa Park was someone else entirely, someone with abilities I'd never imagined.

"Very good, Agent Blake," the impostor said, her voice now carrying a different accent. "Though you're too late to save your little precognitive friend."

"Where is she?"

"Where do you think? The facility you've been so interested in observing." The shape-shifter stood gracefully, completely unbothered by Blake's drawn weapon. "She's proving quite valuable to our research programs."

"What research?" I demanded.

"Understanding the limits of precognitive ability, naturally. How far into the future can she see? What happens when we introduce stress, drugs, electrical stimulation?" The woman's smile was cold, clinical. "Science requires experimentation."

Rage flooded through me, hot and consuming. "You're torturing her."

"We're advancing human knowledge. Lisa's sacrifice will help us develop countermeasures against others like her." The shape-shifter's eyes fixed on me. "Just as your sacrifice will help us understand psychometric manipulation."

"My what?"

"Did you really think your abilities were natural? Uncontrolled?" She laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "Every vision you've had for the past six months has been carefully crafted, designed to guide your investigation in the direction we desired."

The implications hit me like a physical blow. My psychometric visions—the foundation of my success as an investigator—had been compromised, possibly for months. Every case I'd solved, every breakthrough I'd made, had been orchestrated.

"The Morrison trafficking case," I whispered.

"Our operations. We needed someone to shut down a rival organization that was interfering with our recruitment efforts." The shape-shifter circled us like a predator. "Your unique combination of federal authority and psychometric ability made you the perfect tool."

Blake's gun never wavered. "What about David Chen? Mike Torres?"

"Unfortunate necessities. They were getting close to exposing operations we weren't ready to reveal." The woman shrugged. "Marcus handles such complications with admirable efficiency."

Marcus—the young man with cold eyes from my visions. "The killer with the scar."

"Among other talents, yes. Marcus is quite versatile."

"Where's Lisa?" Blake repeated, his voice deadly calm.

"Safe, for now. Whether she remains so depends on your cooperation." The shape-shifter reached into her jacket and produced a tablet, which she set on the apartment's small table. "Your new assignment, Agent Morrison."

The tablet displayed surveillance photos of Sarah. At her apartment, leaving work, having coffee with friends. The message was clear—comply, or my best friend would pay the price.

"What do you want?"

"Simple. Return to your normal duties. Continue closing cases with your remarkable intuition. Stop investigating matters that don't concern you." The woman's green eyes held no warmth, no humanity. "In exchange, Detective Collins lives, Lisa Park receives medical care instead of more intensive research, and you get to pretend you're still one of the good guys."

"And if I refuse?"

"Then tonight, Detective Collins suffers a tragic accident. Tomorrow, Lisa Park's usefulness comes to an end. Next week, Agent Blake disappears while investigating a dangerous criminal organization." The shape-shifter's smile was arctic. "The week after that, we collect you anyway, but with considerably less regard for your comfort."

Blake stepped forward, his weapon aimed at the woman's center mass. "Here's a counterproposal. You tell us how to find the facility, and I don't put a bullet through your skull."

The shape-shifter laughed. "Agent Blake, you disappoint me. Don't you recognize a negotiation when you see one?"

Her form began to shift again, this time taking on Blake's appearance—same height, same build, same facial features. Within seconds, two identical Ryan Blakes stood in Lisa's apartment, and I couldn't tell which was real.

"Kate," both figures said simultaneously, "shoot the impostor."

I drew my own weapon, but kept it lowered. "This is impossible."

"Not impossible," the left Blake said. "Just rare. Shape-shifters are one of the rarest supernatural variants—only a dozen confirmed cases worldwide."

"She's lying," the right Blake countered. "Don't trust anything she says."

I studied both figures, looking for tells, for anything that might distinguish the real Blake from the copy. But the transformation was perfect—down to the small scar on Blake's left hand from what he'd told me was a childhood accident.

"Kate," the left Blake said gently, "remember what I told you at the pier. About my sister, about why this matters to me."

"Anyone could have overheard that conversation," the right Blake replied. "She's been monitoring us for weeks."

Both statements were true. Both Blakes moved like him, spoke like him, even held their weapons with the same professional competence. The shape-shifter's abilities were beyond anything I'd imagined possible.

Then I remembered something—a detail from our conversation at the museum that no one else could have known.

"What did I tell you about my psychometric vision?" I asked. "The one that showed you in my apartment?"

The left Blake answered immediately: "You said either your abilities were wrong for the first time in your life, or I wasn't telling you something."

"And what did you say in response?"

"I suggested someone else might have your abilities, someone who could manipulate what you saw."

The right Blake had remained silent throughout the exchange, and I saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. The shape-shifter could copy appearance and mannerisms, but she couldn't read memories she'd never been present to witness.

I raised my weapon and fired three rounds into the right Blake's center mass.

The impostor staggered backward, her form already shifting back to the green-eyed woman. "Clever," she gasped, golden blood spreading across her shirt. "But pointless. You can't save Lisa Park. You can't save Detective Collins. You can't even save yourselves."

Blake kept his weapon trained on her as she slumped against the wall. "The facility's location. Tell us how to find it."

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're dying," I said bluntly. "That golden blood—it's not human, is it? Your shape-shifting abilities require a different physiology, one that doesn't handle bullet wounds as well as normal tissue."

The woman's laugh turned into a cough, spattering golden drops across her lips. "You're smarter than they gave you credit for."

"The facility," Blake pressed.

"Northwest... of the city. Blackstone... Research." Her voice was weakening rapidly. "But you're... too late. The final phase... begins tonight."

"What final phase?"

The shape-shifter's green eyes fixed on me with dying intensity. "They don't just want... to study you, Agent Morrison. They want to... replicate you. Mass production of... psychometric soldiers."

Her head fell forward, and the golden blood stopped flowing.

Blake and I stood in the sudden silence, processing what we'd learned. The facility we'd been observing was called Blackstone Research. Lisa was being tortured there, along with who knew how many others. And tonight, they were planning to begin mass production of supernatural soldiers.

"We have to go in," I said.

Blake nodded grimly. "Two of us against a fortified facility with dozens of guards and experimental weapons."

"Suicide mission."

"Probably."

I looked at the dead shape-shifter, at the tablet still displaying photos of Sarah, at the impossible situation we'd stumbled into. "Blake, before we do this—before we probably get ourselves killed—there's something I need to tell you."

He turned to face me fully. "What?"

"Lisa was right. About someone caring more than they should." I stepped closer, close enough to see the flecks of gold in his blue eyes. "I care about you too, Ryan. More than is smart or safe."

Blake's expression softened, and for a moment the weight of our impossible situation seemed to lift. "Kate—"

"I know the timing is terrible. I know we might die tonight. But if we're going to do this, if we're going to storm that facility and probably get shot to pieces, I want you to know that whatever happens in there, you won't be facing it alone."

Blake holstered his weapon and cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs tracing across my cheekbones. "You realize this complicates everything?"

"Everything was already complicated."

"True." His smile was soft, genuine. "Kate, I need you to understand something. When we go into that facility tonight, my priority is going to be keeping you alive. Not the mission, not stopping their research—you."

"Ryan—"

"I know it's not professional. I know it compromises the operation. But I can't lose someone else I care about to these bastards." His forehead touched mine, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I won't lose you."

The intensity of his words, the raw emotion in his voice, made my chest tight. "You won't lose me. We're going to get Lisa out, shut down their operation, and expose the whole conspiracy."

"And if we don't?"

"Then we go down fighting, together."

Blake's lips found mine, soft at first, then with growing intensity. The kiss tasted of desperation and hope, of promises we might not live to keep. When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard, I saw my own determination reflected in his eyes.

"Together," he agreed.