Date: July 16, 2010 – Thursday
Location: The Young Residence, Sycamore Lane – Mouth of Wilson, VA
Ethan stood outside the Young residence, a modest two-story house tucked behind rows of maple trees and white fencing. The late afternoon sun was hot on his neck, but the warmth did nothing to ease the chill crawling through his gut.
Beside him were Lucas, Evan, Ryan, and Louie—quiet, tense, and waiting.
None of the other Vorpal teammates were with them.
They had wanted to come. Insisted on it. But Ethan had said no. Not this time.
"Just us," he told them earlier. "We’re not trying to overwhelm him. We just need to check on Brandon—quietly."
But the visit wasn’t going as planned.
Naia Young stood in the doorway, arms crossed tightly, her expression guarded and composed—yet tired. Her black curls were tied into a bun, her nurse’s uniform still creased from a long hospital shift. A woman who knew how to stay calm under pressure. A woman who had seen too much and wasn’t about to let more chaos into her home.
"I know you boys care about him," she said gently, her voice low but firm. "But Brandon doesn’t need visitors right now."
"Please, Ms. Young," Ethan said. "We won’t stay long. We just want to talk—see how he’s doing."
She shook her head. "He barely talks to me, and I’m his mother. You think he’ll open up to five of you?"
Lucas stepped forward. "We’re not trying to push him. Just let him know he’s not alone."
Her eyes softened at that—but only slightly.
"I know your hearts are in the right place. But sometimes, giving someone space is the best thing you can do."
Evan frowned. "We just thought—"
Naia interrupted. "No. Means No!"
Ryan looked down at the porch steps. Louie kicked a loose pebble in silence.
Ethan opened his mouth—then closed it.
Naia studied them a moment longer before speaking again, gentler this time.
"Look... I assure you He’s not in danger. He’s just.... And I’m doing everything I can to help him do that safely. So please—don’t take it personally. You boys showing up ? That tells me everything I need to know about what kind of friends Brandon has. Good ones."
Lucas blinked hard and nodded.
Ethan sighed. "We’ll leave, then. But if there’s anything he needs—anything at all—we’re here. Even if it’s just to sit in silence with him."
Naia’s eyes lingered on Ethan, then moved to the others one by one. She nodded slowly.
"I’ll tell him that."
The boys turned and walked back toward the sidewalk.
The front door closed behind them with a soft click.
As they walked away from the Young residence, no one said a word.
But the silence wasn’t empty this time.
It was filled with something unspoken.
Something like resolve.
After minutes of Ethan and the others leaving
The front door had barely closed before Naia turned toward the staircase. She climbed it slowly, each step echoing against the quiet wooden panels, carrying the weight of a mother’s love and caution. At the top of the stairs, she hesitated outside Brandon’s room—still shut, still silent.
She tapped lightly. "Your friends visited you today," she said, her voice soft through the door. "Don’t worry. I told them to leave so they wouldn’t disturb you."
The door creaked open.
Brandon stood there, eyes wide, hair messy, his breathing shallow. His voice cracked through clenched teeth.
"What did you say, Mom?"
Naia blinked in surprise. "You... finally opened the door."
Brandon’s voice rose. "That’s not what I asked. My friends came—and you made them leave?"
Naia’s expression tightened. "I thought you didn’t want visitors. That’s what you told me just yesterday—"
"That and this are different!" Brandon snapped, his voice trembling, torn between anger and fear.
She stepped back slightly. "Why are you shouting at your mother? Where did you learn to speak like that?"
Brandon’s chest heaved as the emotions poured out. "I’m afraid, okay? I’m paranoid. My anxiety’s getting worse. I can’t sleep, I can’t think. I don’t even know if I can trust what I see anymore."
His eyes darted around the hallway—then settled on the floor.
"I mean... who wouldn’t be after what I saw...?"
Naia’s face softened instantly. She stepped forward, her voice quiet now. "What did you see...? Tell me, Brandon."
Brandon gripped the doorframe as if it were the only thing holding him up. His lips trembled, and his voice dropped to a whisper.
Meanwhile The five boys walked in silence.
Shoes scuffed against the pavement. The sun, still hanging high, cast long shadows across the road. But the warmth of the afternoon didn’t reach them.
Ethan glanced over his shoulder at the Young residence—calm, still, peaceful.
Louie broke the silence first, frowning. "I don’t get it. Why didn’t she let us see him? We came all the way here..."
"She said he wasn’t feeling well," Evan muttered, kicking a loose stone. "Didn’t sound like she wanted us around, though. Not at all."
Lucas narrowed his eyes. "She was hiding something."
Ryan, walking in the back, scratched his head. "It’s not our business to push a kid’s mom, is it?"
Ethan stopped walking. The others turned.
"No," he said calmly, "it’s not our job to disrespect her. But it is our job to be there for Brandon."
Then He looked at the ground, fists clenching slightly.
"Brandon’s not the type to just vanish. Something’s wrong. And we’re not turning our backs on him."
Lucas nodded slowly. "Yeah. This... isn’t like him."
"Do you think she was lying?" Evan asked quietly.
Ethan looked forward again, voice low but firm. "No. She wasn’t lying."
He paused, his brows furrowing.
"She was protecting him from something."
Louie frowned. "Like what?"
"I don’t know yet," Ethan said. "But whatever it is, it scared Brandon enough that he hasn’t even texted us. Not once."
The boys continued walking again, each deep in thought.
As they turned the corner, out of sight from the Young house, Lucas looked at Ethan and said, "So what now?"
Ethan didn’t hesitate. "We give him a little time. But just a little. If he doesn’t show up to practice... we’re going back."
In the cold glow of flickering fluorescent lights, a line of children — unconscious, restrained, and marked — were being transferred onto metal carts. Monitors trailed beside them, displaying pulses and strange waveforms.
Gerald Young, silent and composed in a black coat, stood watching as his men moved the children into Facility 3.
He nodded toward the head of security. "Take them to the lower levels. The Boss wants results."
As the men followed orders without hesitation, a new presence stepped into the room — soundless, yet heavy.
"How’s the progress, Gerald?"
The voice came from behind. Gerald didn’t need to turn. He already knew who it was.
A man in a long white coat, hands tucked behind his back, wore a sheep mask — pristine, unsettling. Its blank eyes seemed to mock the horror unfolding around them.
Gerald turned his head just enough. "It’s going smoothly, sir. Facility 3 is prepared."
The masked man stepped forward, glancing at one of the children.
This one wasn’t unconscious.
A boy — no older than 13 — twitched and groaned. On his bare back, mechanical veins and glowing lines had been fused directly into his skin. The device pulsed with a dull red light.
Gerald added quietly, "This is the kid..."
The sheep-masked man tilted his head. "Ah. So that’s the cause of the problem."
Then Gerald thought about his son.
His son might have seen it.
He wasn’t supposed to be there, Gerald thought, panic tightening in his chest. But if he saw that... the kid I kidnapped. Brandon...
The masked man said nothing for a long time, then turned.
"Then you know what to do. We can’t afford loose ends."
Gerald hesitated. Just a second.