The living room of the Jacobs’ home was bathed in shadows, the single lamp in the corner casting an anemic glow. Jessica sat on the couch, her legs curled under her as she clutched a blanket to her chest. Her eyes darted nervously between her mother and the two officers standing stiffly by the phone. Her heart felt like it was trying to claw its way out of her chest.
“How do you even know they’ll call?” Jessica asked, her voice trembling. “They don’t even know our phone number.”
One of the officers, a grizzled man with streaks of gray in his hair, adjusted his belt and gave a small shrug. “They likely got it from your sister,” he said. “If they’re organized enough to pull this off, they’d have figured out a way.”
Jessica swallowed hard, her mind racing with questions she couldn’t bring herself to ask aloud. She glanced at her mother, who was sitting rigidly in the armchair, her hands clasped tightly together as if praying.
The silence was suffocating, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. And then, it happened.
The phone rang.
Jessica flinched so hard she nearly dropped the blanket. Her mother jolted upright, her face pale as a ghost. One of the officers leaned forward, gesturing for her to answer.
With trembling hands, Mrs. Jacobs picked up the receiver. “H-Hello?”
The voice on the other end was deep and calm, but there was an undercurrent of malice that sent a chill down Jessica’s spine. “Hello, Mrs. Jacobs,” the man said, his tone disturbingly casual. “Your daughter is alive, but that can change. You see, we need something from you.”
“What do you want?” Her mother’s voice cracked, the words barely audible.
“Twenty million dollars,” the man replied smoothly. “Transferred to a Swiss bank account. The details will be sent to you shortly.”
Mrs. Jacobs’ face crumpled. “Twenty million?” she whispered, her voice thick with despair. “We… we don’t have that kind of money.”
“Then you’d better figure something out,” the man said, his tone hardening. “Because every hour you don’t pay, your daughter will suffer. And believe me, Mrs. Jacobs, we can make her suffer in ways you can’t even imagine. Kapeesh?”
The line went dead.
Mrs. Jacobs sank into the armchair, her face buried in her hands. Jessica stared at her mother, her stomach churning with helplessness.
“What… what do we do?” Jessica whispered, her voice trembling.
One of the officers stepped forward, his jaw set. “We’ll try to trace the call and monitor for any further contact. In the meantime, we’ll escalate this to the FBI. This isn’t a small-time operation.”
Jessica felt a knot of dread tightening in her chest. The man on the phone sounded so sure of himself, so confident. Whoever he was, he wasn’t just bluffing.

~o~O~o~
Back at the Warehouse
I was trembling, my arms wrapped tightly around myself as I sat in the freezing, dimly lit room. My breath came in shallow gasps, and the cold concrete floor beneath me sent chills crawling up my spine. The camera in the corner of the room followed my every movement, its red light a constant reminder that I was being watched.
I wanted to scream, to cry, to do something, but I was too scared to make a sound. Instead, I stared at the tiny vent in the wall, watching as the faintest sliver of moonlight seeped through. It was the only thing keeping the darkness from swallowing me whole.
The door creaked open suddenly, the sound cutting through the silence like a knife. I scrambled back against the wall, my heart pounding as one of the men stepped inside.
“You’re quiet,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “That’s good. Means you’re learning.”
I didn’t respond, my throat too tight to form words.
The man smirked, his gaze lingering on me for a moment before he tossed a bundle of clothing onto the floor. “Get dressed,” he said. “Boss wants to see you.”
I hesitated, eyeing the clothes. A pink frilly dress.
“Hurry up,” the man snapped.
I grabbed the dress and pulled it over my head. It was too big, but I didn’t care. At least I wasn’t exposed anymore.
The man grabbed my arm, dragging me out of the room and down a long, narrow hallway. The walls were lined with peeling paint, and the air smelled of mildew and something metallic. My stomach churned as we passed a room where muffled voices echoed behind a closed door.
We entered a larger room, dimly lit by a single overhead light. A man was sitting at a desk in the center of the room, his face obscured by shadows.
“Sit,” he said, his voice low and commanding.
I hesitated, but the man who brought me here shoved me forward. I stumbled but caught myself, lowering into the chair in front of the desk.
The man leaned forward, and for the first time, I saw his face. He was older, with sharp features and eyes that seemed to pierce right through me.
The dim light above cast long shadows across the man's face, making his sharp features look even more menacing. His eyes—cold, calculating—bored into me as if dissecting my very soul.
"Jamie Jacobs," he said, his tone eerily calm, almost amused. "Or should I say... the girl no one expected."
I froze, his words ringing in my ears like a cruel echo. My throat tightened, but I forced the question out, barely above a whisper. “What do you want from me?”
The man’s lips curled into a faint, humorless smile. It wasn’t a smile of kindness or pity—it was predatory. “Oh, Jamie,” he said softly, leaning forward so the shadows shifted over his face. “It’s not about what I want. It’s about what you are. Or, rather... what you’ve become.”
I blinked, my stomach twisting into knots. “What are you talking about?” My voice cracked as I tried to sound braver than I felt.
He leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled beneath his chin. He studied me with an unnerving patience, as though savoring my confusion. “You’re special,” he said at last. “Different. And that difference didn’t happen by chance.”
His words hit me like a punch to the chest. The room felt colder, the air thinner. My mind raced, trying to grasp what he meant. “What—what do you mean?” I stammered, a horrible thought creeping into the back of my mind.
The man tilted his head slightly, his expression darkening. “You don’t remember, do you? That box. That machine. The one you stumbled upon. The one that changed you.”
His words sent a shiver down my spine. My heart began to pound as fragmented memories surfaced. The strange box from earlier.
My breath hitched as realization slammed into me. “You… you know about the box?” I managed to choke out.
“Know about it?” The man chuckled darkly, leaning forward so his face was illuminated again. “Jamie, we created it. The machine, the technology—it’s ours. And you? You’re living proof of its success.”
“No,” I whispered, shaking my head in disbelief. “No, that can’t be. It was—it was an accident. I was forced into it! I—”
“Oh, we know it was an accident,” he interrupted, his voice smooth as silk. “That machine wasn’t meant to be discovered yet. But you, Jamie... you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. And now, here you are.” He gestured toward me, “The first successful subject.”
“Subject?” The word felt foreign in my mouth, bitter and wrong. My hands trembled, my mind spinning. “What do you mean, subject? What did it do to me?”
The man’s smile widened, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “It rewrote you, Jamie. Reshaped you. The technology was designed to change biology at its most fundamental level—to transform, to evolve. And you? You’re its masterpiece. You’re no longer who you were. You’re something entirely... new.”
“No!” I shouted, my voice cracking. “I’m still me! This—this isn’t who I am!”
He shrugged, almost dismissively. “That’s irrelevant now. What matters is that you’re proof our machine works. And that makes you very valuable.”
I stared at him, a sickening sense of dread pooling in my stomach. “Why?” I demanded, my voice trembling. “Why would you create something like that?”
The man’s expression hardened, his earlier amusement fading. “Why?” he repeated. “Because the world is changing, Jamie. Because people are flawed, inefficient. We created the machine to fix that, to create something better. And you...” He paused, his gaze locking onto mine. “You’re the prototype.”
I wanted to scream, to yell that I wasn’t some experiment, but the words caught in my throat. Instead, I sat frozen, the weight of his revelation crushing me.
“You’ll understand soon enough,” he said, his voice softening into a tone that almost sounded like pity. “For now, just sit tight. You’ll be playing a very important role in what’s to come.”
I stared at him, unable to process the whirlwind of emotions—fear, anger, confusion—swirling inside me. Before I could say another word, he stood and gestured to the guard standing by the door.
“Take her back,” he ordered. “And make sure she doesn’t try anything... creative.”
The guard grabbed my arm roughly, dragging me out of the room. My feet stumbled over the cold floor as the man’s words echoed endlessly in my mind.
“We created it.”
“You’re the prototype.”
“What you’ve become.”
I didn’t know what they wanted from me, but one thing was clear—I was no longer just Jamie Jacobs. And whatever had been done to me, whatever I’d become, I was their prize. Their property. Their experiment.
But I wasn’t going to stay that way. Not if I could help it.