“They are running out of time,” Ethan whispered. “The main hospital security team will be coming up the stairs now.”

Suddenly, his phone vibrated in his hand.

A text message appeared on the screen from an unknown number.

I leaned closer to read the small text.

*I am in the basement archive,* the message read. *But the power to this block just went out.*

Ethan’s face went completely still.

He looked up at the ceiling.

The fluorescent lights in our office flickered once, twice, and then died.

The green emergency exit lights clicked on, casting a dull, eerie glow over the hallway.

The mechanical horn of the lockdown stopped mid-blast.

The pneumatic doors, now deprived of power, began to slide open slowly on their counterweights.

Through the window, I saw the man with the scar smile.

He reached for the door of incubator four.

I lunged forward, but Ethan was already moving.

He slammed his shoulder into the glass door, forcing it wide enough to slip through.

The man with the scar turned, his hand hovering inches from the latch of incubator four.