Children of the Virus

35: Shattered Illusions

The sun dipped below the horizon, bleeding its last light across a sky speckled with purples and oranges. Baz's grip on the control panel tightened as they approached the Lebanese border, the mechanical whir of robot sentinels punctuating the evening calm.

"Did you guys really cross?" Ren's voice cut through the tension that filled the vehicle. Her wide eyes scanned the looming silhouettes of the robot guards, their sensors sweeping the landscape like searchlights from some dystopian lighthouse.

"Piece of cake," Toshiro replied, though his heartbeat seemed to argue otherwise.

"Seems too easy," Ren murmured. "I can't believe we made it this far."

"Believe it," he assured her, though his own relief was palpable as they made it past the robot battalion.

After an hour's drive in silence, broken only by the soft crunch of tires over rough terrain, they reached a secluded grove where the incessant buzz of drones faded into the background.

Baz killed the engine, allowing darkness to envelop them. "What's the plan, Toshiro?"

"Why don't you start?" Toshiro said, turning to Baz, whose eyes glimmered with the reflection of the moon.

"Emily's got us a place to lie low for the night," Baz responded, his voice a mix of excitement and resolve. "Short drive from here. We'll move out before first light, hit the hospital after the night shift."

"Good," Toshiro nodded, considering their next steps. "And the interrogation?"

"Simple grab," Baz said with a nonchalant shrug. "Corner one of the workers, get what we need, then—"

"Then I wipe their short-term memory clean," Ren interjected, patting the device in her pocket with a confidence that belied the gravity of their mission.

"Exactly," Toshiro affirmed. "We snatch an unsuspecting night shift worker, interrogate them about the work being done at the hospital, and employ threats to extract information if necessary."

"Without leaving a trace," Ren added, her words hanging in the air like a promise.

"Right," Toshiro agreed, his mind already racing ahead to the challenges that awaited them. "We get in, we get out. No complications."

"No one gets harmed in this mission—right, Toshiro?" Ren's voice was a whisper, yet it cut through the stillness with urgency.

"Of course not," Toshiro replied, locking eyes with her. "We will not lower ourselves to Zo's level."

Ren's expression softened, but the question lingered in her eyes. "Do you promise?"

Toshiro offered a nod, firm and resolute. "Yes. I'll ensure we hurt nobody."

Twenty minutes passed before they arrived at the safe house—a modest structure nestled between the gnarled branches of ancient olive trees. The door creaked open, revealing a compassionate Lebanese man with a warm smile and a steaming pot in his hands.

"Ah, my friends! You must be famished," the man greeted them, ushering the group into the humble abode that smelled of herbs.

He ladled generous portions of soup into bowls, the aroma weaving through the room like a comforting embrace. Ren took a tentative sip, her eyes lighting up at the burst of flavor.

"Better than those sugar pump rations, hmm?" the man boasted, his chest puffing with pride.

"Definitely," Ren agreed, the corners of her lips twitching upwards.

The man proceeded to lay bare his aspirations of opening a soup shop.

"Do you mean like a café?" Ren asked.