Astral Knight

As the tension levels increased, Marcus felt all the more delighted by it. Dylan couldn't just seem to understand what was so exciting about getting caught by two most mean looking faced people he had seen other than the faces of the doctors and nurses doing their 'medical' tests.

"Yeah, so i know you'd be thinking in your mind, he got us here, he should get us out. So I'll tell you my plan, I'll come out, I'll introduce myself to them and boom the distraction, you'd run and I'll run the other way." Marcus whispered looking all Tom Cruise.

Dylan just gave him a scornful look, mind you it took almost all his strength to move his facial muscles." How about you shut up and wait until they leave idiot." Marcus blinked unstoppable for some seconds realising how true the simple statement was.

"But bro, it's not a mission if it's not impossible. Like ..... " Dylan interrupted him again his cold fragile hands wrapped ironically strong against the fast moving lips of Marcus whom he could swear felt them move.

The guards came and checked right and left, Dylan and Marcus hid under the lab bench, they swept around the lab but didn't see anybody.

"Really bro?? Nobody's here. C'mon bro let's get outta here." One of the guards said as they left faster than they came in.

Dylan and Marcus came out from behind the lab bench, their shadows stretching long under the fluorescent lights. The mysterious file lay on the floor between them, its red "Confidential" stamp glaring like a warning sign.

Marcus was practically drooling over it, his fingers twitching with curiosity. "Dude, this is it. This is the jackpot. This file probably holds all of Novagen's secrets. Like, how they got so big so fast. Or maybe some crazy experiment they're hiding. We could be, like, whistleblowers or something."

Dylan, on the other hand, couldn't care less. His lungs were on fire, his inhaler clutched in one hand, and all he wanted was to go home. "Yeah, cool. Can we whistleblow after we're not, you know, *trespassing*?"

"You're no fun, Seriously are we gonna do this again." Marcus muttered, but he was already trying to pry the file open. It was sealed tight, the kind of lock that screamed *"classified."*

"Give it up," Dylan said, his voice low but urgent. "We need to get out of here before—"

The sound of footsteps cut him off. Not the heavy boots of the guards this time, but the sharp click of a woman's heels. The door to the lab swung open, and Dylan's heart dropped into his stomach.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice was soft but sharp, like a knife wrapped in silk. Dylan froze, his eyes darting to the source. She was tall, fair-skinned, with glasses that made her look both intimidating and oddly pretty. Her lab coat was pristine, her posture perfect, and her expression—well, it wasn't exactly welcoming.

Marcus didn't wait for introductions.

"Not again." Dylan breathed. "Mission Terminated. Run Dyl !" He bolted, his sneakers squeaking on the polished floor as he darted across the lab. Dylan hesitated for a split second, torn between following Marcus and trying to explain their way out of this. But the woman's piercing gaze made the decision for him. He ran.

"Hey! Stop!" the woman shouted, her voice echoing through the lab.

Dylan didn't look back. He couldn't. His lungs were already screaming, his inhaler clutched tightly in his hand as he followed Marcus through a maze of doors and hallways. Marcus was a blur ahead of him, his athletic frame moving with the kind of speed Dylan could only dream of.

"Marc, wait!" Dylan wheezed, but his friend was already disappearing through another door.

The woman's voice crackled over the intercom, calm but commanding. "Security, we have intruders in the west wing. Two teenage boys—one's colored, the other's white. Apprehend them immediately."

Dylan's stomach churned. *Great. Now we're fugitives. Run, run that's all we've been doing since.*

He stumbled through the labyrinth of hallways, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed from both ends of the corridor, and panic surged through him. He was trapped.

Then he saw it a door slightly ajar, a sliver of light spilling into the hallway. Without thinking, he lunged for it, slamming it shut behind him and leaning against it as if his weight could keep the world out.

The room was dark, the only light coming from a small window high on the wall. Dylan slid to the floor, his chest heaving, his inhaler pressed to his lips. It didn't help much. His lungs felt like they were filled with cement, and his head was spinning.

"Stupid… Marcus…" he muttered between gasps. "Stupid… night… stupid… everything…"

He closed his eyes, trying to steady his breathing. The footsteps outside grew louder, the voices of the guards sharp and urgent.

"Check every room! They can't have gone far!"

Dylan's heart pounded in his ears. He was trapped, alone, and running out of options. The room was small, barely more than a storage closet, and there was no way out except the door he'd just come through.

His mind raced. What would Marcus do? Probably something reckless and stupid, like trying to fight his way out. But Dylan wasn't Marcus. He didn't have the strength or the stamina for that. All he had was his wits and right now, they weren't exactly firing on all cylinders.

He glanced around the room, searching for anything that could help him. Shelves lined the walls, filled with boxes and equipment, but nothing useful. Then his eyes landed on something in the corner a vent cover, just big enough for someone to crawl through.

The room was a suffocating tomb, the darkness pressing against Dylan's eyes like a physical weight. His lungs screamed, each breath a jagged knife twisting deeper, and his mind raced in frantic circles—*What now, what now, what now?*—as if repetition alone could conjure an escape. He could hear the guards' voices swelling outside, their boots thudding closer, and his hands trembled so violently he could barely grip his inhaler. *Think, think, think—*but all he could think was how stupid he'd been to follow Marcus, how reckless it was to believe they could outrun a corporation, how inevitable it was that he'd end up here, trapped and gasping, while Marcus probably sprinted halfway to Mexico by now.

*Should've stayed on the couch. Should've said no. Should've—*

His thoughts splintered as a flashlight beam sliced under the door, casting a sliver of light across his sneakers. Dylan recoiled, pressing himself against the wall, his heartbeat a deafening drum solo in his ears. *They're right there. They'll open the door. They'll see me. They'll call the cops. Aunt Marla will kill me. Mom would've—*

He choked off the thought, his throat tightening. *Don't go there. Don't.*

The guards' voices sharpened, arguing about splitting up, and Dylan's panic metastasized*They'll search every room. They'll find me. They'll arrest me. They'll ask questions. What if they call Child Services? What if they kick Aunt Marla out of the house? What if?*

*Stop. Breathe.* But breathing was the problem. The inhaler hissed in his hand, but the relief was fleeting, a Band-Aid on a bullet wound. His eyes darted around the room shelves cluttered with boxes, a mop bucket, a stack of manuals*useless, useless, useless* until his gaze snagged on the vent.

*No. No way. Too small. Too tight. You'll get stuck. You'll die in there.*

But the alternative was worse—handcuffs, headlines, Aunt Marla's disappointed face. *You're the Black kid in a white lab coat's horror story. They'll say you stole something. They'll say you're dangerous.*

The flashlight beam wavered, shadows dancing under the door. A hand gripped the handle, rattling it, but Dylan's heart was on the handle.