Nova Fertility Center
Frank and Zoey walked into the pristine clinic, their eyes scanning the sleek, modern design. Frank flashed his badge at the receptionist, a sharply dressed man sitting behind the counter.
"DPD," Frank said firmly. "We need to speak with Dr. Harold."
The receptionist's friendly smile didn't falter as he covertly pressed a button beneath the counter. "Dr. Harold is in a meeting right now," he replied smoothly.
"You'll need to interrupt him," Frank insisted.
Unbeknownst to them, the button the receptionist pressed had sent a silent alert to Dr. Harold's office. Harold was watching the scene unfold on a CCTV monitor alongside West, seated in the dimly lit room.
The receptionist entered the room moments later, looking nervous. "The DPD detectives are here," he said.
Harold's jaw tightened. "If there are loose ends, they're not on my side."
West remained calm, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Relax. They don't know anything. If they did, they'd be kicking the door down with a SWAT team, not strolling in for a chat."
Harold shot him an uneasy glance. "What if you're wrong?"
West turned to the receptionist. "Do your job. Be your charming self. Get them to leave."
"And if I can't?" the man asked hesitantly.
West's expression turned cold. "Then take care of them."
The receptionist nodded, swallowing hard, and returned to the front desk.
Back at the counter, the man greeted Frank and Zoey with the same polished smile. "I'm so sorry, but Dr. Harold has stepped out for the afternoon."
Zoey raised an eyebrow. "You said he was in a meeting."
"I thought he was," the man said, his tone apologetic. "Must've been mistaken. He'll be back in a few hours. You're welcome to wait."
"Great," Zoey said, a tight smile on her face as she turned toward the hallway. "In the meantime, I think we'll give ourselves a tour of the facility."
The receptionist's smile wavered, and he sighed. Reaching into the drawer beneath the counter, he pulled out a gun. But before he could raise it, Frank moved fast, grabbing the man's wrist and slamming his hand down on the counter. The gun clattered to the floor.
In one swift motion, Frank twisted the man's arm behind his back, pinning him against the desk. The receptionist winced in pain.
"Find Harold," Frank growled, his voice low and menacing.
Zoey nodded and darted into the clinic, her heart pounding as she moved through the stark white hallways. Each door she opened revealed nothing—offices, storage rooms, empty patient rooms. Harold was nowhere to be found.
Meanwhile, Frank had secured the receptionist, cuffing him to the desk. Without hesitation, he joined the search.
*****
Five minutes into his search, Frank rounded a corner in a secluded wing of the facility. The silence was broken by a gunshot.
Frank instinctively ducked, the bullet grazing his shoulder harmlessly, deflected by the bulletproof suit he wore—a gift from the system.
The muzzle flash revealed Harold's position.
"Put the gun down, Harold!" Frank barked, raising his own weapon.
Harold didn't respond, his hands trembling as he fired again, missing entirely. He was desperate, sweating, and clearly panicked.
Frank didn't wait any longer. Three quick shots rang out, each finding its mark in Harold's chest. The man collapsed to the ground with a grunt, his weapon clattering beside him.
Frank approached cautiously, checking Harold's pulse. Nothing.
"Harold's down," he muttered into his comm, already moving toward the sound of Zoey's voice deeper inside the clinic.
******
Zoey pushed open a heavy steel door labeled Restricted Access. What she saw inside froze her in her tracks.
The room was dimly lit, bathed in the cold glow of fluorescent lights. Rows of patient beds stretched across the room—eighteen in total.
On each bed lay a woman, motionless, connected to a maze of medical equipment. Tubes snaked into their arms, and oxygen masks covered their faces. Their shallow breaths were the only sound in the room, apart from the rhythmic beeping of monitors.
But it wasn't just the eerie stillness of the scene that shook Zoey to her core. Every woman had a distinct bulge in her stomach.
All fifteen women were pregnant.
Zoey's stomach churned. Her eyes darted from one bed to the next, trying to make sense of the grotesque tableau. The women appeared pale and frail, their bodies unnaturally thin except for their swollen abdomens.
The air felt heavy, thick with the sterile scent of antiseptic and something far more sinister.
Zoey wandered through the rows of patient beds, her mind racing to process the eerie sight before her. The room's silence was broken only by the rhythmic beeping of medical monitors and the faint sound of labored breathing from the unconscious women.
Then, a metallic screech pierced the silence.
Zoey spun toward the noise, her instincts kicking in. Before she could react, a stretcher hurtled toward her, slamming into her stomach and crashing her into the wall.
She crumpled to the ground, clutching her abdomen in pain.
West emerged from the shadows, his face cold. He gave her no time to recover. Grabbing the back of her neck, he slammed her against the edge of a metallic stretcher. Zoey struggled to draw her pistol, but West seized her wrist, twisting it painfully.
Her weapon clattered to the floor, sliding out of reach.
West overpowered her with brutal efficiency, twisting her arm behind her back and forcing her to the ground. With a grunt, he picked her up and hurled her onto one of the unconscious women's beds.
Zoey gasped, dazed and disoriented. She saw West dart toward the fallen pistol. He picked it up, turning to aim it at her.
Before he could pull the trigger, a gunshot echoed through the room.
West cried out, the pistol dropping from his hand as Frank's shot hit its mark.
"Zoey!" Frank shouted, rushing to her side.
"I'm okay," Zoey said, wincing as she pushed herself to her feet.
Frank approached West, who was clutching his injured hand and groaning in pain. Without hesitation, Frank cuffed him, forcing him to the ground.
Zoey turned her attention to the unconscious woman on the bed she had been thrown onto. She quickly checked for signs of distress. "She's stable," Zoey said, relief washing over her.
Frank scanned the room, taking in the horrifying sight. "We need to inform Layla," he said grimly.
Zoey nodded, pulling out her phone to make the call.
Sometimes Later
Layla arrived with backup and a team of doctors. The once-stifling room was now bustling with activity as medical professionals examined the women and cataloged the equipment.
Standing off to the side, Layla, Zoey, and Frank discussed the gravity of what they had uncovered.
"Eighteen victims," Zoey reported, her voice steady but somber. "All women, including Lucy Pattison—the girl we lost at the university—Allison, Michelle… we got them all."
Frank sighed heavily. "Except for Liza McAllister. I couldn't save her."
"Hey, look at me," Layla said firmly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "That wasn't on you. You did everything you could. And just look around." She gestured to the room. "You solved all these missing persons cases in one shot. And we've accounted for the mothers of all twenty-seven children. That's a victory."
Just then, a man in a white coat approached. "Detectives, you need to see this."
He led them to a section of the lab filled with advanced medical equipment. "This is a fully operational IVF lab. The women's eggs were surgically retrieved, fertilized here, and then re-transferred. It's all state-of-the-art." He pointed to a row of machines. "The genetic testing setup is cutting-edge. Some of these records go back years."
Frank exchanged a look with Zoey and Layla. The scale and sophistication of the operation were staggering.
*******
The women were transferred to the hospital, and their families were contacted. The case was officially closed, though its impact would linger for months to come.
Several months later, Liza McAllister, the woman left brain-dead but kept on life support due to her pregnancy, gave birth to a healthy baby girl. After the birth, Liza was removed from life support, passing away peacefully.
The newborn was handed over to Liza's parents, her only surviving relatives. Though the scars of the ordeal would take time to heal, the child represented a glimmer of hope amidst the darkness.