Trapped in a 5-Second Future: A Landlord's Cold War Trap in Arlington
👉 [Previous Decision]: You chose Option B – Feign unconsciousness on the concrete floor to lure someone into the chamber.
Clara lay motionless on the cool, unforgiving sub-floor. Her breathing was shallow, her eyes closed, her body carefully arranged to appear slack and unresponsive. The high-pitched whine from the screens had subsided, replaced by a low, rhythmic hum. The flickering static had given way to blank, dark screens, momentarily defeated by her defiance.
Above, through the filtered sound of the intercom, she heard a new voice, younger and less authoritative than Holloway’s. “Colonel, her vital signs are dropping. The telemetry is flatlining. I think she’s lost consciousness.”
Sergeant Donald Kincaid. Clara remembered seeing him briefly when Holloway first brought her down here—a fresh-faced radio clerk with worried eyes.
“She’s playing games, Sergeant,” Holloway’s voice snapped back, sharp as a whip. “A theatrical display for an audience of none. The readings are erratic because she’s deliberately disrupting the emotional biometric input. Don’t fall for it.”
“But Colonel, if she’s genuinely distressed…” Kincaid’s voice trailed off, a note of genuine concern evident even through the crackle of the intercom. Clara held her breath, not moving a muscle. She could almost picture him, hunched over his auxiliary console, his hand hovering near a control.
“Distress is precisely what we’re meant to measure, Kincaid!” Holloway barked. “And the cost of this particular ‘distress’ is $14,500 of military research money, not to mention a $65,000 Pentagon contract pending my final validation report! That hinges on keeping her in there until we have conclusive data.”
Clara’s ears pricked. $14,500. $65,000. This wasn’t just about back rent. This was bigger, darker. Holloway was using her to secure a massive government contract, exploiting her for a military project that she was an unwilling participant in. The “back rent” claim was a cover, a cruel fiction.
“Sir, with all due respect, cutting off her oxygen earlier, and now letting her lose consciousness…” Kincaid began, but Holloway cut him off with a guttural growl.
“Respect? You want respect, Sergeant? Then do your duty! A dishonorable discharge will look fantastic on your service record, won’t it? Perhaps a court-martial for insubordination during a national security crisis? The Cuban Missile Crisis, Kincaid! Lives are at stake! My project is essential!”
A tense silence fell in the observation room. Kincaid remained quiet. Clara could imagine him, shoulders stiff, jaw tight, weighing his fear of Holloway against the gnawing discomfort in his conscience. She felt a flicker of hope. This young man, unlike Holloway or Aris, still had a moral compass.
She continued to lie still, her muscles aching, but her resolve hardening. Holloway’s casual cruelty, his willingness to sacrifice her well-being for money and perceived “national security,” solidified her determination. She would not be his predictable, panicked test subject. She would find a way out, and she would expose him.
The weight of Holloway’s threat to Kincaid, however, also revealed the stakes. Kincaid was trapped, just as she was, though his cage was made of fear and military protocol. Clara knew she would need to give him a compelling reason to defy his superior.
➡️ Read CHAPTER 5 to continue the story
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