In his mind, Mikey's thoughts returned to Moore, still lying unconscious in the hospital. He knew exactly where to find him.
Dr. Bin's face remained expressionless, but a flicker of something—approval, perhaps—passed across his features. "Good. From now on, we meet only at my forest site. No one must know of our alliance. Do you understand?"
"I swear on my life," Mikey replied, his voice trembling with conviction.
That night, Moore found himself deep within the underground facility in Dr. Bin's remote forest lab. He lay shackled on a cold, metallic table, his wrists and ankles bound, and an iron arc locked around his neck. The faint hum of machines reverberated in the background, blending with the soft sound of his shallow breathing.
Dr. Bin stood over him.
Dr. Bin approached Moore again, the gleaming syringe already filled with a fresh measure of crimson blood. The flickering lights above cast an eerie glow on the cold metal, reflecting into Moore's weary eyes. Moore's scream tore through the lab as the needle sank into his shoulder once more. It wasn't just the pain—it was the horror of what was being done to him.
Dr. Bin, unmoved by his captive's cries, slowly withdrew the syringe, raising it to eye level to study the blood with clinical fascination. A smile played at the corner of his lips, but it wasn't one of joy. It was the grin of a man seeing potential—a solution—hidden within the liquid life he'd stolen. Without a word, Bin turned to leave.
Moore's voice, strained but desperate, stopped him in his tracks.
"What are you doing to me? How much blood do you need before you're satisfied?"
Bin paused, glancing back with a cold, expressionless face. His silence spoke louder than words. He turned on his heels and disappeared into the darkness of the hallway, the sound of his shoes echoing ominously against the tile floor.
---
In the chemistry section of the lab, Dr. Bin poured Moore's blood carefully into a tall glass tube, every motion precise, calculated. The soft hum of the burner hissed as flames licked the bottom of the glass. Bin pulled a small metallic pouch from the pocket of his lab coat, sprinkling fine crumbs of silvery metal into the bubbling liquid. He retrieved another vial—a murky concoction of chemicals—and carefully dripped it in, his gloved hand steady as a surgeon's.
At first, the blood swirled calmly, absorbing the additives. But within seconds, the reaction turned violent. The liquid erupted, boiling over with a frothy vengeance, and the tube shattered into shards. Molten fragments and thick, steaming substance splattered across the floor, hissing as they cooled.
"Damn it!" Bin growled, his frustration boiling over. He grabbed a forcep, kneeling to pick up the semi-solid mess that now littered his pristine floor. This was not the result he'd planned for—far from it. Scowling, he scribbled hurried notes in the small leather-bound notebook he always kept with him.
The harsh ringing of his phone snapped him from his thoughts. Irritated, he snatched it from the table.
"I told you I don't want to be disturbed—" he barked, but the voice on the other end made him pause. His anger dissipated, replaced by reluctant curiosity.
"Alright," he muttered, calmer now. "Have them wait for me."
---
Dr. Bin entered Moore's holding chamber once more, this time without a word. Moore, his body weak from blood loss, lifted his head with difficulty. His voice came as a rasped whisper.
"How many pints... do you need?"
Bin ignored him, his gaze fixated on Moore as if he were nothing more than a lab rat. Another syringe, another extraction. Moore groaned through gritted teeth as Bin siphoned another measure of blood. He left him groaning in exhaustion.
---
Outside Dr. Bin's lab, the scene was chaotic. Police officers had gathered, and the flash of their badges under the sun stood in stark contrast to the lab's grim reputation. Standing at the forefront of the police was Brainard, an older man with sharp eyes and an air of authority. He was locked in a heated argument with Simon, Dr. Bin's Chief Security Officer, and Cuspid, one of the deputies.
"I've been informed about the atrocities going on in here!" Brainard shouted, gesturing toward the building. "We have a warrant to search this facility!"
The police Sergeant at Brainard's side raised a paper for Simon to see. Though he fumed inwardly, Simon knew resisting now would only escalate things. Reluctantly, he stepped aside.
---
"What are you doing here, Sir?" Bin asked sharply, his voice carrying a tone of suspicion.
"I have been informed that you are still indulging in your blood madness," Brainard retorted coldly, his eyes fixed on Bin like a hawk. "You must be stopped."
Bin clenched his jaw, his irritation barely concealed. He shoved a hand into his pocket, his fingers curling tightly. A storm of anger brewed within him, yet he chose not to lash out immediately. He would not give Brainard the satisfaction of seeing his fury. Instead, Bin stewed silently, vowing to deal with him later—at a time of his choosing.
Before the tension could escalate, the Sergeant and his followers returned, their heavy boots crunching against the gravel. Brainard turned quickly, eager to hear their report.
"Let us go now," the leader said, disappointment dripping from his voice.
Brainard furrowed his brows, clearly perplexed, but he nodded curtly. His driver, a broad man with a stern face, opened the car door. Before stepping inside, Brainard turned to Bin one last time.
"I warned you," he said gravely. "Don't waste your time on this madness."
Bin opened his mouth, ready to reply, but something held him back. He swallowed his words. There was no point engaging now. A better opportunity would come, and when it did, he would strike.
---
Three days had passed since Moore's disappearance, and Dick felt as though the weight of the world rested on his shoulders. Frustration gnawed at him; his thoughts spiraled endlessly without answers. He knew Mikey was likely involved, but he lacked the courage to confront him directly.
By the time school ended, Dick decided he could no longer sit idle. He resolved to track Mikey, hoping to uncover something—anything—that might lead him to Moore. As expected, Mikey and his group were on the school field, practicing martial arts with intense focus. From a distance, Dick observed the movements carefully. Mikey was no amateur; his stances were fluid and deliberate. He corrected others, barking orders and adjusting their forms.
"You shouldn't open your legs like that—you're at risk," Mikey chided Poure, pushing him into a stronger stance.
He moved through the group, correcting each member, until he reached Harry. Mikey whispered something into his ear, and almost instantly, the practice session ended. The abrupt conclusion raised Dick's suspicions. From his concealed spot behind a shrouded tree, he watched as the group dispersed quickly. Something wasn't right.
Determined not to lose his lead, Dick climbed down and followed Mikey's trail, weaving carefully behind bushes and mulberry trees. But Mikey was nowhere in sight. Instead, two boys emerged, chatting casually as they walked. Dick narrowed the gap between them, his breathing shallow and deliberate. He was so focused on his target that he failed to notice the boys had slowed down intentionally.
Suddenly, they turned around.
Dick froze. These were the same boys from practice, and their expressions were anything but friendly. Panic jolted through him. He turned to retreat, but two more figures—Harry and Poure—blocked his path. Their eyes glinted with menace. There was no time to think; Dick bolted towards a cluster of trees to his right.
The thorny underbrush tore at his clothes and skin, but he pushed through, desperate to escape. His breath came in short gasps as Harry and Poure circled around, anticipating where he'd emerge. Dick spotted a large tree with a hollow at its base and instinctively dove inside. Leaves and twigs covered the ground, making it an ideal hiding place—or so he thought.
Unbeknownst to him, the hollow was home to a massive anthill. The moment Dick entered, the ants sensed an intruder, and they launched their venomous assault.
At first, he felt a sharp bite on his neck. He slapped at the spot instinctively, crushing a massive ant between his fingers. Before he could process what was happening, another bit into his calf, its tiny fangs piercing his skin with a sting that sent searing pain up his leg.
"Ugh!" he groaned under his breath, trying to suppress the sound.
But it was too late. The ants swarmed him. They crawled into his clothes, biting every inch of exposed skin. The pain was unbearable, like needles piercing his body in rapid succession. To stifle his cries, Dick grabbed a broad leaf and clamped it between his teeth. Tears pricked his eyes as he writhed in agony.
Outside, Harry scanned the area, unaware of Dick's torment. He bent to check beneath the shrubs, his gaze wandering dangerously close to Dick's hiding spot. Dick braced himself. He would pounce—push Harry down and run. But his body betrayed him; the bites sapped his strength, leaving him barely able to move.