When the River Burns

Chapter 12: Beneath the Floodgates

The tunnels beneath Sector 9 were ancient, long forgotten by the city that had grown above them. Elena stepped into the darkness with only a flickering flashlight and Valeria’s coordinates etched into her palm. The air smelled of wet concrete and rusted metal—a place untouched by time, or mercy.

Kai and Ivy waited topside, disguised among the workers on a supply route. If something went wrong, they’d break in. But for now, Elena was alone.

Her boots echoed against the tiled floor. Mold spread like veins on the walls, and water dripped steadily in the distance. As she passed an old maintenance panel, her flashlight flickered, then steadied.

A faint red mark—barely visible—was painted on the wall. An arrow.

She followed it through the dark, past a collapsed ceiling and down an iron stairwell into the belly of the city.

At the bottom, she found the door.

Steel. Reinforced. But the keypad bore the same encryption Dara had once used in her secret files.

Elena entered the sequence.

The lock clicked open with a groan.

Inside, the air was drier. Warmer. The safehouse was intact—dusty, but untouched. A small generator purred quietly in a corner, powering rows of ancient monitors, data drives, and a central terminal with a cracked screen.

Valeria stood at the console, bathed in the flickering light of the old system. Her shawl was gone. She wore black now—like a widow or a warrior.

“You came alone,” she said, without turning.

Elena stepped inside. “Just like you asked.”

Valeria gestured toward a steel box on the table. “Your mother left this. Said it wasn’t to be opened unless the regime fell—or unless you needed to burn it down from the inside.”

Elena’s fingers hovered over the latch. “What is it?”

“Proof,” Valeria said. “Of Project Ouroboros. Of what Rodrigo did to the first children of the program—and what he planned for the next generation.”

Elena opened the box.

Inside were sealed folders, black-and-white photos, and one trembling memory chip.

She pulled out a document and scanned it.

Test Subject D.R.001 – Status: Terminated

Justification: Emotional instability. Noncompliant. Subject aware of biological origin.

Elena’s breath hitched.

It was a record of her mother’s enrollment in the original Ouroboros trials. She wasn’t just a whistleblower—she’d been a survivor.

Another file detailed genetic modifications ordered by Rodrigo himself. Dozens of children born under artificial selection. Some raised as orphans. Others—like Elena—planted in high-ranking homes for “long-term study.”

Her whole life… had been a controlled variable.

Elena staggered back. “He used me. I was part of this.”

Valeria met her gaze. “You were meant to be his legacy. But your mother chose to rewrite the script.”

The words sank in like lead.

“I leaked his finances. His dealings. But this…” Elena clutched the folder to her chest. “This is the rot at the root.”

Valeria nodded. “This is how you bring him down—not just as a tyrant, but as a fraud.”

“But how do I prove it without risking everyone who’s still part of the program?”

Valeria opened a drawer and slid over a device—a high-frequency transmitter with a built-in firewall.

“Upload it to the inter-regional tribunal database. The moment it hits their servers, it can’t be erased.”

“And Rodrigo?” Elena asked.

Valeria’s voice was cold. “He’ll try to kill you. But this time, the world will see him bleed.”

—

When Elena emerged from the tunnels, Kai was already running toward her, breathless.

“Elena—” he stopped short when he saw her face. “What happened?”

She didn’t speak. Just handed him the chip.

He read the top file and went pale.

“I was part of it too,” she said hoarsely. “He raised me to be a weapon. My mother tried to unmake me into something human.”

Kai cupped her face gently. “You were never a weapon. You were the spark.”

Ivy joined them seconds later, scanning their expressions. “Did you get it?”

“More than that,” Elena said. “We got the match. Now we light it.”

—

Back at the metro base, Ivy and Kai helped Elena wire the transmitter to their stolen satellite feed. The upload would take 17 minutes—just long enough for someone to trace.

They were out of time.

“If we go through with this,” Ivy warned, “there’s no going back.”

Elena stared at the blinking upload bar.

“I don’t want to go back.”