He was panting, his mouth open as he worked.

“The transfer is at forty percent,” Julian muttered.

I looked down at my baby girl.

She was sleeping peacefully, completely unaware that her entire future was being decided in a dark room miles away.

“Can we call the police?” I asked Samuel.

“I already did,” Samuel said, holding his phone. “They’re dispatching a unit, but it will take them at least five minutes to get there.”

Ethan was now standing in front of rack three.

He ripped a handful of blue cables out of the back of the machine.

More lights flickered and died.

“Fifty-five percent,” Julian said, his eyes scanning a progress bar on his second monitor.

Ethan turned to rack four.

He paused, looking at the blinking lights.

He seemed to realize this was the main target.

He raised the tool high above his head.

“Come on,” Julian whispered to his computer. “Just three more minutes.”

Ethan swung the tool down hard.

The front panel of rack four cracked.

A high-pitched alarm began to flash on Julian’s screen, indicating a system error.