Chapter 35: The Finisher's Gambit
In a dimly lit war room, the tension was palpable. Men and women in suits stood huddled around a large screen, reviewing the footage from the hospital.
The SSG Organization had decided to go overboard with this one, and they decided to bring in their biggest, baddest and most lethal agent. Decorated heavily with more stats than an NBA player, he entered the room with the calm of an experienced veteran.
General Andrew Marshall, known as The Finisher, stood off to the side, his sharp green eyes scanning every detail. He was a decorated soldier, feared and revered for his relentless pursuit of the truth, and more so, for his ability to dismantle even the most enigmatic puzzles.
He was called in when all else failed—and right now, the SSG organization had failed miserably.
"They've escaped," one of the analysts muttered.
The Finisher's lips twitched into a slight smile. "Of course, they have. But they won't stay gone for long."
His fingers tapped against the table rhythmically as he glanced over the list of people involved. Those who interacted with them daily, those who took care of them, those who had friction with them, he had a list of names containing all the people involved, Ms. Caldwell, Mr. Thompson, Mr. Rudbick, Mr. Joel and even Mr Rudbick's son, James, who had recently regained consciousness.
Then there were the students—Oxlade, Karl, and the ever-cunning Bridget Mills.
"Bring them all in," Marshall ordered, his voice calm, commanding. "No stone is to be left unturned."
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At Riverdale Academy, the principal, Mr. Hammond, was facing his own nightmare. The tension was at a boiling point.
Parents were demanding answers, and the media had turned the once-quiet school into a circus.
The doors to his office swung open, and a soldier in black tactical gear stepped in.
Andrew Marshall, The Finisher, in the flesh.
"You must be Principal Hammond," Marshall said, his tone casual but his presence intimidating. "I'm here to clean up your mess."
Hammond paled. "I-I don't know what you're talking about. The school—"
"The school," Marshall interrupted, "harbored an alien. And we both know it's not just Adrian East we're talking about." His gaze narrowed. "Now, where are your staffs? I need three of them"
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The next morning, Ms. Caldwell, Mr. Thompson, Kr. Joel Mr. Rudbick, and even James, who was still recovering, were brought into a cold, sterile room.
They were seated around a table, the air thick with tension. Marshall, standing at the head of the room, looked at them like pieces on a chessboard.
"You're all here because you've been complicit," Marshall began, his voice cutting through the silence. "Complicit in harboring individuals of extraterrestrial origin."
Ms. Caldwell's eyes flared with defiance. "I did what any mother would do. Tessa is my daughter."
"And yet," Marshall stepped closer, "you've brought this chaos upon yourselves. You didn't just hide them—you nurtured them. Now, tell me, where are they?"
The room stayed silent.
Marshall smiled, a dark, menacing grin. "I didn't expect you to talk. Not yet, at least."
'I will put the fear of Andrew Marshall into you, and by the time I am done, you lot would be eagerly shouting out the answers!' His grin deepened as the thought brewed in his mind.
The lights flickered, and a group of agents entered the room, carrying with them a series of sharp instruments and devices that glinted ominously in the light.
Marshall looked directly at Ms. Caldwell. "Let's start with you."
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Outside, in a different section of the building, Oxlade, Karl, and Bridget were separately interrogated.
Unlike the others, Marshall handled them with a more casual air. A simple round of questioning, coupled with intimidation.
"So, tell me what you know about Adrian East," Marshall asked, pacing around Oxlade.
Oxlade gulped but spoke with conviction. "He saved us. That's all I know. Adrian's a good guy."
Karl nodded in agreement. "He saved our lives. He's not a threat."
Bridget, on the other hand, smirked when it was her turn. "Oh, I knew there was something different about him all along," she said smugly. "But come on, you think I'd be part of this? I lost to an alien. Isn't that enough?"
Marshall raised an eyebrow. "We'll see." He had no intention of dragging this out for them. They weren't the real targets.
Oxlade and Karl are your classic capital loyalists, and let's face it, these kids would likely have no clue who they really were dealing with, they were just fueled by blind loyalty
Bridget on the other hand is your textbook egomaniac, a classic example of 'if it's not about me, then it doesn't concern me'. Getting answers from her would ultimatetly be futile, so it's better to just let them go.
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Back in the torture room, Ms. Caldwell groaned in pain, but she kept her mouth shut. Her loyalty to Tessa was unwavering.
Marshall admired that, in a way. The others weren't as strong.
But then, something clicked in his mind. A new theory.
Marshall studied the group carefully, his eyes narrowing as he pieced together the inconsistencies.
His mind worked in overdrive, as it finally landed on the guy who started it all, James. James, still groggy from his earlier ordeal, struggled to sit upright, his face pale but determined.
"James," Marshall began, his voice cutting through the tense atmosphere, "I need you to tell me about the cafeteria incident. The one that started all this."
James looked confused for a moment, then his eyes widened in understanding. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "It was the food," he said slowly.
"That day, the fight with Adrian started because I...I switched Tessa's food with that made in the cafeteria. The food must have tasted... off to her. We all noticed it, especially after Tessa tasted it."
"I mean, she always had her own meals, made separately by a special cook, while the rest of us ate what the school provided."
Marshall's interest piqued. "Special cook?" he pressed, leaning forward. "What is the difference between the food done in the cafeteria and that done specially for Tessa?"
James nodded. "Yeah. She doesn't eat the same food as us. I didn't think much of it at the time, but looking back... she never touched anything with salt in it."
Marshall paused, his mind racing. He motioned for one of his men to fetch the school's cooks. Soon, a trembling kitchen staff was brought before him.
Marshall questioned them sharply. "Tell me about Tessa's meals. Why does she have a separate cook?"
The head cook, clearly nervous, hesitated before replying. "It was a request from Ms. Caldwell. Tessa... she doesn't respond well to regular food. Especially not salt. We were told to make her meals with no trace of it."
Marshall's eyes gleamed with realization. "Salt," he murmured. "That's why she never ate with the other students... it's a weakness." He turned to his team. "Prepare salt-based weapons. We'll use Ms. Caldwell to lure them in. This ends now."
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He turned away from the group and began pacing, speaking to himself. "Aliens, salt... I've seen something like this before. The way their bodies react. Could it be?"
He spun on his heel. "What do you know about salt?"
Confused, Ms. Caldwell blinked. "Salt?"
Marshall grinned, piecing it all together. "Salt bullets. They might be the key."
Turning to his soldiers, he barked out orders.
"Also, besides other salt based weapons, make sure you prepare a batch of salt coated bullets and set the trap."
Ms. Caldwell's eyes widened. "Trap?"
Marshall nodded slowly. "Yes, you're going to help lure them back. And when they come, I'll finish what you've started."
A cold shiver ran down her spine. They were going to use her as bait to trap her own daughter and Adrian. Marshall's plan was meticulous, and it was only just beginning.
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Ms. Caldwell sat in the sterile room, her heart pounding in her chest. Marshall stood before her, a calculating look in his eyes. He had laid out his plan, and the weight of the decision he had forced upon her was sinking in. The idea of calling Tessa, of leading her and Adrian into a trap, made her sick to her stomach.
"You want me to lure them in?" she asked, her voice laced with defiance. "You must think I'm a fool."
Marshall's expression didn't change. He didn't seem fazed by her resistance.
"I know you care about Tessa, Ms. Caldwell. And that's exactly why I'm asking you to do this. If you don't, the government won't wait much longer. We have orders, and trust me—what's coming will be far worse than anything I've planned."
Ms. Caldwell's fists clenched in her lap. "What do you mean?"
Marshall sighed, almost as if he pitied her. "If you don't help us bring them in quietly, they'll send in the full strike force. This school will become a war zone, and they won't care who gets hurt in the process—not you, not the students, and certainly not Tessa."
Ms. Caldwell's heart sank. She could envision the chaos Marshall described—agents storming the grounds, weapons drawn, with no regard for the lives caught in the crossfire. Tessa and Adrian would be treated like animals, hunted down with no mercy.
Marshall took a step closer, lowering his voice to a soft but dangerous tone. "I'm giving you a choice. Bring them in, and they'll be captured, yes, but alive. Refuse, and I guarantee you won't see Tessa again. She won't survive what's coming next."
Tears welled in Ms. Caldwell's eyes, her mind racing. Her love for Tessa was all-encompassing, and the idea of losing her—of watching her be killed in some brutal assault—was too much to bear. She knew Tessa was strong, but not invincible. Not against an entire army armed with her greatest weakness, 'salt'.
"I don't have a choice, do I?" Ms. Caldwell whispered, her voice breaking.
Marshall's silence was all the confirmation she needed.
"Still there is a problem though, they are not with their phones, so how could I contact them?" Ms. Caldwell spoke, trying to remain calm but her sad dispirited face and shaking arms betrayed her calm voice. She had gone through so much torture, her lips were parched, and one could see her bruised face with blood and sweat mixed.
Amdrew Marshall grinned at her question, "All you need to do is record a video and leave the rest to us, just tell her to come back." Andrew Marshall then signaled to one of the agents nearby who firmly held a box containing a phone, and with a nod, the agent went forward with the box, extending it to Ms Caldwell.
With trembling hands, she picked up the phone. As she opened the video recorder, a deep, painful guilt gnawed at her heart. She hated herself for what she was about to do, but the image of Tessa's face—alive and breathing—was all that kept her going.
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