Page 11 of Rescuing Ally, Part 2 (CHARLIE Team: Guardian Hostage Rescue Specialists #8)

ELEVEN

Patient Zero

HANK

The Kazakhstan extraction. Three months ago.

“When was the first documented system failure?” I ask.

Mitzy pulls up the data. “Guardian Grind register. The espresso machine. Exactly seventy-two hours after the extraction team returned.”

I move toward Mitzy’s workstation, where her team is already assembling the timeline Doc Summers suggested. They’ve created a virtual map of Guardian HQ, with each affected system marked in red, timestamps floating beside each marker.

“Show me.” I position myself where I can see the entire display.

“We’ve documented 147 separate electronic failures over the past eleven weeks,” Mitzy explains, bringing the visualization to life.

The markers appear one by one, chronologically, spreading across the map like a time-lapse of infection. “Starting here.”

The first red dot appears over Guardian Grind. The coffee shop where Ally works. Where Malia works.

Where they spent most of their time after returning from Kazakhstan.

“The espresso machine register,” Mitzy confirms. “First reported malfunction, exactly 72 hours after the extraction team returned.”

The second dot appears nearby. “Malia’s cell phone. Battery completely drained despite being fully charged. 12 hours later.”

A third dot. “Ally’s laptop. Power regulation issue.”

Doc Summers frowns, studying the display. “Wait. Where was Ally’s laptop when it failed?”

“Nowhere near Guardian Grind,” Mitzy confirms, checking the logs.

“That’s significant,” Doc Summers says, her medical training kicking in. “If this were a traditional pathogen, we’d be looking at two separate outbreaks. Two distinct patient zeros. The espresso machine at Guardian Grind, and Ally’s laptop in a completely different location.”

The pattern expands outward, like ripples in water, each new failure connecting to previous ones through proximity or usage patterns. But now I can see what Doc Summers sees—two epicenters of infection, spreading simultaneously.

The electronic contagion moves through Guardian HQ like a slow-motion explosion. “From person to person, device to device.”

“The timing is too precise to be coincidental,” Mitzy agrees. “And look at the concentration points.”

She highlights specific areas on the map—Guardian Grind, the residential quarters where Malia lives, the research lab where Malikai worked, and our condo.

“Everywhere they went.” The picture crystallizes in my mind. “Everything they touched. What else failed soon after?”

“Our phones,” Gabe interjects, stepping forward. “Remember? Right after Ally plugged her USB drive into her laptop. Both our phones started draining faster than normal.”

I nod once, the memory precise.

Everything Ally, Malia, and Malikai touched after returning from Kazakhstan subsequently malfunctioned.

Doc Summers frowns, her expression shifting as she accesses a memory. “There’s something else. The medical scanners.”

“What medical scanners?” Forest asks, turning toward her.

“The ones we used during the initial assessment of the Kazakhstan survivors,” she explains, her words gaining momentum. “They weren’t catastrophic failures, just—glitches. Calibration errors. Signal dropouts. I thought it was just equipment fatigue from the field deployment.”

“When was this?” I ask.

“Immediately after extraction,” she replies. “On-site, before transport back to HQ. Standard medical protocol for all rescued hostages.”

“That would make the medical scanners patient zero,” Mitzy says, already updating her timeline. “Even before they arrived at Guardian HQ.”

“They were packed back up with the rest of our gear and haven’t been anywhere else.

The likelihood of them transmitting whatever this is to other systems is virtually nil.

However, Guardian Grind and Ally’s computer and the connection with Malikai all point to the fact that each one of them was an epicenter of spread. ”

“What about the other rescuees from Kazakhstan?” Walt asks.

Doc Summers shakes her head. “None of them came to Guardian HQ. They went to The Facility, where they were processed, treated, and offered standard rescue services. Ally, Malia, and Malikai were the only ones who came here.”

“Which means whatever is causing this came back with them from Kazakhstan.” I look at Gabe. Ally. Our Ally. Used as a vector for Malfor’s infiltration.

“Mitzy,” Sam says, “gather all potentially affected devices. Full forensic analysis. Isolate and destroy.”

“I don’t think isolation protocols are necessary,” Mitzy says, already moving.

“If these devices are carrying something, it’s already spread throughout our systems. It’s better to examine them in their current state.

Not to mention, we shouldn’t destroy anything until we know what we’re dealing with. ”

“Get it done.” Sam accepts Mitzy’s expertise.

I’m like Sam. I want to burn everything to the ground, but what Mitzy says makes sense. The first step in destroying an enemy is understanding them, and there’s a lot we don’t understand right now.

Hours pass.

Mitzy’s lab is a fortress of advanced technology. She gathers equipment and sets up diagnostic systems. Ally’s laptop sits on the central workstation, surrounded by our phones, the register component from Guardian Grind, and circuit boards from various failed systems throughout the facility.

“If there’s something embedded in these devices,” Mitzy explains as she initializes the diagnostic sequence, “it has to be microscopic. Our standard security scans would have caught anything larger.”

I watch as she methodically scans the laptop’s components. Power regulation system. Battery connection points. Circuit boards. Nothing appears unusual at standard magnification.

“Nothing visible at baseline,” Mitzy mutters, frustration evident in her voice. “This doesn’t make sense. Something is affecting these systems, but I can’t find any physical or digital evidence.”

“What’s the maximum resolution on that scanner?” Gabe asks, his eyes fixed on the display.

“Standard electronic microscopy tops out at around 10,000x magnification,” Mitzy responds, “but we rarely need to go beyond 1,000x for component analysis.”

“Push it higher,” I instruct, a hunch growing despite the lack of visible evidence.

She gives me a questioning look but complies, adjusting the equipment. “2,000x… 5,000x… still nothing but standard electronic components.”

“Keep going,” Gabe insists, leaning forward, hands braced on the workstation.

“Interesting.” She increases magnification, zeroing in on what appears to be corrosion along one of the connection points.

“What’s that?” I ask.

The image sharpens. Increases magnification again. And again.

“8,000x…” Mitzy continues, the resolution increasing. “Wait, there’s something…”

“That’s not corrosion,” I say, my voice controlled, measured.

“You’re right.” Mitzy’s voice carries the weight of discovery.

At 10,000x magnification, the “corrosion” resolves into distinct structures. Mechanical. Organized. Purposeful. Along the power coupling, clustered like metallic barnacles, there are hundreds of microscopic machines.

“My God,” Mitzy breathes, fingers freezing over the controls, “those are nanobots. Advanced ones, no less.” Mitzy pulls up comparative images.

“Nothing like this exists in any unclassified research I’ve ever seen.

They’re targeting power regulation systems, communications interfaces, anything that processes data or manages energy flow. ”

“They’re concentrating around the communications, security, and tactical systems.”

She immediately switches to our phones, examining the battery connections. The same microscopic machines appear at the same magnification.

“They’re in everything.” Her voice is tight with disbelief. “Every device the Kazakhstan survivors touched. And from there, they spread to other systems through proximity or direct contact. It’s an infestation.”

“Can you determine their function?” I ask.

“I’ll need to analyze their architecture first,” Mitzy responds, capturing detailed scans of the nanobots. “But based on their positioning near power and data connections, they appear designed to siphon energy and intercept information.”

“Surveillance?” Gabe states, the word sharp with rage. “Do you mean Malfor’s been watching us through our equipment?”

“Surveillance and interference, more likely than not.” Mitzy studies the magnified structures.

The door to the lab slides open, and Doc Summers enters. Her expression is grim.

“I’ve been reviewing the medical data from the Kazakhstan extraction.

The scanning equipment began malfunctioning exactly 47 minutes after first contact with the survivors.

Malfor must have introduced these nanobots into their systems during captivity.

Most likely through topical application—medical procedures, contaminated surfaces, even something as simple as a handshake with an infected handler. ”

“On them?” A bad feeling comes over me. “If they were on their skin…” I don’t want to think my next thought. Fortunately, I don’t have to.

“I need skin samples from everyone,” Doc Summers says.

“We can start with those closest to them.” Doc Summers turns her warm brown gaze on me and Gabe.

“I need to take skin swabs from you both. Call Walt in, as well. The three of you had the most contact with them. If you’re infected, then we start testing everyone. ”

“I don’t like the sound of that.” I turn to Gabe and see the same thought swirling in his head. He dials Walt, calls him in, then notifies Ethan.

“Give me a moment to get swab kits. I’ll be back soon.” With that, Doc Summers disappears.

Walt and Ethan arrive a few minutes later, and that’s when the questions begin. Questions for which no one has any answers. When Doc Summers returns, she makes quick work of collecting skin samples from our hands, forearms, and faces.

One of Mitzy’s technicians takes the swabs and preps them for scanning via electron microscopy. Doc Summers and Mitzy settle down in front of the controls and examine the samples.

“I found something.” Doc Summers transfers data to the main screen. Microscopic images appear, and among the dead skin cells and normal bacteria, tiny metallic structures cling to the surface like technological parasites.

“Nanotech,” she explains. “They’re on your skin. Explains the spread from device to device. I’ve never seen anything like this outside of experimental research.”

“That’s how they got past our security.” The pieces fall into place. “No alarms because the security system itself was compromised.”

But infiltration technology can be reverse-engineered.

“Mitzy.” My voice is flat, controlled. “Can you isolate an intact specimen? They have to communicate somehow. Can we trace them back to their source?”