The Last Girl Standing (#1)

Unveiling the CEO

Noami

Disbelief warred with a flicker of hope as I stared at the masked figure. My entire body tensed, the chains biting into my wrists as I strained for a better look.

"Who is it?" Mark snarled, his earlier rage momentarily replaced by a wary confusion.

The figure took another deliberate step forward, the harsh light reflecting off the chrome surface of their mask, obscuring their features. They raised their hand, revealing a glint of silver in their grasp - a familiar glint that made my breath hitch.

It was a scalpel, the very same one I'd carried with me since before the apocalypse. But how...?

Then, as if a dam had broken, recognition flooded my mind. The broad stature, the way he held himself - it couldn't be...

Then, as if a dam had broken, recognition flooded my mind. The broad stature, the way he held himself - it couldn't be...

"Dad?" I choked out, the single word laced with a mix of disbelief and dawning horror.

The masked figure paused, their posture shifting ever so slightly. Then, slowly, they reached up and removed the mask.

My heart hammered against my ribs as my father's face, etched with worry lines I didn't remember, came into view. But there was something different about him, something distant in his eyes.

"Hey sweetie," he said, a strained smile pulling at the corners of his lips. "It's good to see you again."

My mind reeled. How could this be? My dad, the kind, gentle doctor I thought I knew, standing here with a militia leader, holding my prized scalpel?

"Dad? Why are you here? And… what are you wearing?" I stammered, my gaze flitting between him and Mark, who now stood awkwardly bowing his head.

"Well, to be honest," Dad began, his voice surprisingly calm, "I'm the CEO of CURE, the Corporation for Universal Research and Eradication."

My jaw dropped. CURE? The organization whispered about in hushed tones, rumored to be working on a cure for the infected?

"But… you were a doctor at Mercy General," I stammered, the pieces of the puzzle refusing to fit.

Dad's smile faltered for a brief moment, a flicker of something akin to shame crossing his features. "That was a long time ago, Naomi," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "CURE needed my expertise, and the resources at Mercy General…"

His words trailed off, but the meaning hung heavy in the air. He'd abandoned his practice, his patients, maybe even my mom and sister, all for this mysterious corporation.

"Where is Mom and Charlotte at?" I demanded, fear gnawing at the edges of my newfound anger. "Are they… safe?"

Dad hesitated, a bead of sweat forming on his temple. "They're… fine," he stammered. "At my office. Waiting for me."

My gut clenched. Everything about this felt wrong. The way his eyes darted around the room, the forced smile, the nervous tick in his jaw – it all screamed deception.

"Dad, I think you're lying," I whispered, a cold dread settling over me.

He met my gaze, a flicker of desperation battling with something else in his eyes. Before he could respond, Mark cleared his throat, his voice tight with confusion.

"CEO of CURE, huh?" he said, eyeing my father with a newfound respect. "And what brings you to my humble… well, not so humble abode?"

Dad straightened his shoulders, a hint of authority returning to his voice. "We have a proposition for you, Mr. Evans." He glanced at me, a flicker of pain crossing his face before continuing. "A proposition that could involve… your new captive."