Chapter 302

Isaac snatched the binoculars from Baekgyeong and shifted his gaze to the windshield. His expression said it wasn’t even worth understanding why Baekgyeong would say such a thing.

“Fuck! You know it too. As long as Yoon Siron lives as the only Omega, even if we get him back he’s going to be kidnapped again!”

At the instant he heard it, a lightning-bolt clarity jolted through Isaac.

Siron was the only Omega. Which meant that if he vanished from the world, everything Hybris planned to achieve through an Omega would be meaningless from the start. If Isaac erased the only specimen he himself had created, the future Hybris envisioned would shatter. He felt a coldness settle in the depths of him at the brutal logic of that conclusion.

Just then, someone hammered on the window like they meant to smash it. Isaac turned his head toward the driver’s-side glass and reflexively leveled his gun. A woman with muddy blond hair glared in like a fury, eyes promising Baekgyeong’s death.

“Hey, you—motherfucking Baekgyeong! Open the damn door! Now!”

As if the gun pointed at her didn’t exist, she pounded the door like a madwoman. Recognizing her, Baekgyeong let out a startled groan.

“Anna?”

Siron looked down at the crumpled Burberry check scarf in his hand. It was something Jackson Cliff had carelessly dropped a moment ago. The scarf was broad and long—almost a muffler—and at both ends small round Cartier tie pins were stuck through. Judging from the diamond-studded pins, he’d used them to fasten the scarf to the trench coat’s collar so it wouldn’t shift around.

What Anna had told him painted Jackson Cliff as a frugal man who drove a cheap, more-than-twenty-year-old sedan and ran a counseling center for almost no pay. Yet here was a man who adorned even a trivial detail like securing a scarf with expensive luxury.

Thinking Anna hadn’t the faintest clue about the reality of a man living a meticulous double life made Siron’s gut burn.

“How many diamonds did he stick on this thing?”

He detached the tie pins from the scarf, one in each hand, and rolled them in his palms. Too good to toss; he promised himself he’d take them as souvenirs when he escaped this drainage tunnel, then looked up at the ceiling. Well above three meters up, a Ventilation Shaft blocked by a lattice grate was set in. Staring at it, he murmured to himself:

“I might be able to use the tie pins.”

Still gazing up, an idea struck. He sprang to his feet.

Without hesitation he split the pricey scarf into narrow strips. Then he knotted the ends into a long cord and fixed both tie pins firmly to the very tip. With good aim, he could hook the pins onto the grate like grapnels.

After a long wrestle, Siron got the tie pins set on the lattice. With careful shaking and tugging, he then retrieved the pins back through the Ventilation Shaft grate. From there it was easy. He stripped the thick fabric from the mattress, tore it into multiple bands, and spliced it to the thin scarf to make a stout rope. By easing one line, he swapped the firm, thin scarf segment that had passed the grate for the tough mattress cloth, and let out a satisfied breath.

“A pity. It’s pure cinema.”

He genuinely regretted not being able to capture this historic jailbreak on camera, then rubbed the dust from his hands.

“Here we go!”

Bracing, he gripped both lines and slowly set his weight. The lattice creaked, but didn’t give. Climbing until his hands reached the ceiling, Siron stretched for the nearest of the four bolts holding the grate. Luck favored him: it hadn’t been torqued down like with a wrench, and he could work it loose.

When he finished the second bolt, one side of the grate tilted under his weight, opening a gap of about twenty centimeters between grate and ceiling. He shifted position, slid one hand into the gap, then the other. Mustering everything he had, he managed to lever his upper body into the ventilation passage.

Sweat-soaked from head to toe, he finally hauled himself inside. But there was no time to rest. He reeled in the rope and, belly down, reached forward with both arms and began inching along.

At regular intervals in the square duct, grates identical to the one he’d climbed through were set into the floor. The rooms below seemed to be repeating in the same structure, but with the lights out, the interior was ink-black; he could see nothing. Crawling was far more punishing than he’d imagined, and the farther he pushed into the dark ahead, the more it felt like being sucked into an endless void; his heart pounded like it might burst.

Drenched in cold sweat, he crawled on and finally, past an elbow bend, found a pale light. It leaked up through one of the floor grates.

Holding his breath, Siron crept to the glow and peered down through the lattice. It was nothing like the room he’d been locked in.

Lab?

The first thing that caught his eye was a large steel cage—big enough to hold a wolf with room to spare. It was empty now, but there were faint filthy stains on the floor that looked like secretions.

Beside it, small wire cages like a rodent facility stood in a row. Under the pallid fluorescents, rats scrabbled frantically, making crisp, papery sounds. Papers clipped to the tops bore experiment dates and notes he couldn’t parse; some cages stood empty.

In the center, several metal tables and benches stretched in a line, arrayed with all manner of instruments and reagents. At the heart of it, a small-framed Black man in a lab coat had his back to him, engrossed in something.

Bent slightly, he was working at something on the tabletop. With the man’s back blocking the view, Siron drew a shallower breath to listen better. Faint squeaks—an animal sound. He was experimenting on the rats in the cages.

The man shifted position and picked up a clear reagent bottle. He dripped a sample onto a small glass slide, studied it under a microscope, then exhaled as if the world had collapsed.

“No. Goddammit, no. There’s no way closely related species can interbreed!”

He hurled the slide at the wall and spat a string of vicious curses. Still not satisfied, he swept dozens of reagent bottles to the floor. Breathing hard, unable to calm down, he kicked back his chair, stormed to the door, and went out.

Siron held his breath and listened to the retreating steps until he heard nothing more. Carefully, he threaded his fingers through the grate and loosened the bolts, then slid his legs out of the Ventilation Shaft.

It was a drop of well over three meters from ceiling to floor, but fortunately a large animal cage sat right below. Siron dropped from the ceiling to the cage, then to the floor. He went straight for the door, but as he moved to push out, it swung open hard and threw off his balance.

“What the—!”

He almost spilled into the corridor, but the body standing squarely in front of him kept him from falling in a heap.

“...Omega?”

Omega. The word jabbed like an awl at the change in himself he still refused to accept. Scowling, Siron glared at the man blocking his way. The Black man who had flung the slide and stormed out was gone; a different man was stepping into the lab.

A familiar face. Days ago he had come into Siron’s cell with Lewis and Dylan and assisted Dylan. Back when the Subdermal Implant Chip Isaac had placed in Siron’s back was mistaken for an Illuminati biochip and chaos ensued, this was the one who had laughed, oblivious, at Siron’s ignorance.