"Where did that child of yours even learn such behavior, Josh?" Catherine asked sharply, irritation burning in her voice after what her daughter Aya had done.
Josh didn't answer. He simply shook his head.
They had already arrived home. Work was still waiting for them—clients who would not tolerate delays. The married couple had a reputation to maintain.
"If our business gets ruined because of this, I swear I don't know what I'll do to that woman!" Catherine snapped.
"Calm down," Josh said firmly. "If something happens to Aya, we'll be among the suspects too. For now, we need to lie low."
"Lie low?" Catherine repeated in disbelief. "Are you implying that we killed Aliya?"
"That's not what I'm saying," Josh replied quickly. "Just calm down. You need to relax."
"How can I relax when we're already being dragged into suspicion?" She glared at him.
Her voice lowered.
"Josh… tell me honestly. Did you have anything to do with Aliya's death?"
"What are you talking about?" he said immediately. "We both had separate alibis that day. And besides…" He hesitated for a brief moment. "I could never kill someone who came from our own flesh."
Catherine stared at him, searching his face.
"You need to rest," Josh added. "You're close to losing your mind."
She scoffed but turned toward the stairs, intending to lie down for a moment. She had barely reached halfway when Josh's phone rang.
She ignored it.
A moment later, Josh called her back with a gesture.
Catherine stopped mid-step.
The heck…
She walked back down the stairs with an irritated stomp. By the time she reached him, he had already ended the call.
"What?" she snapped.
"You need to get ready. We have a guest."
She exhaled sharply.
"And you didn't even decline? Even just for today?" Catherine said, barely holding back her anger.
"We can't. This is an important person," Josh replied, irritation creeping into his tone.
"And who exactly is this 'important person'?"
Josh met her gaze.
"Mr. Buenaventura."
Catherine froze.
For a moment, she wasn't sure if she had heard him correctly.
"Yes," Josh confirmed. "He's coming here personally. So get ready."
She released another long breath.
"Damn it," she muttered before heading upstairs to prepare.
They lived as scientists—experimenters.
Most of their work involved animals.
Catherine decided not to visit her laboratory today. If she stepped inside while still this furious, she might end up killing every test subject in sight.
Their clients paid them handsomely as long as they delivered results. Many of those clients operated in the black market or dealt with matters forbidden by law.
The couple had grown accustomed to it.
It was the life they had chosen.
It was also the life that drove their own children away—unable to stomach what their parents did for a living.
Don't think about that now, Catherine told herself.
She searched her wardrobe for something presentable to wear for their important guest.
She hadn't rested at all. She had just returned from the city because of her brilliant daughter.
Just calm down.
She inhaled slowly. Then again.
And again.
Eventually, her mind began to settle.
XXXXXXX
"But it's a good thing that dog bite healed," the old man said as he leaned heavily on his cane. "Are you really alright?"
They were on their way to visit the infamous scientists—to form a partnership and make a personal request.
Malchor simply nodded.
Beside him sat the old man's grandson, Brandon, who looked at him with obvious disgust.
"You're really pathetic," Brandon said coldly. "That was all you had to do, and you came back covered in wounds. Was it really that difficult?"
Malchor said nothing.
He needed to keep his patience intact.
Who knew what would happen to him if he didn't?
Soon, they arrived at their destination.
The house stood isolated—far from civilization.
Malchor couldn't believe that two children had been raised in a place like this.
The structure itself was massive—large enough to house ten, maybe even twenty people.
Yet only two lived here.
Two figures greeted them at the entrance.
Malchor assumed they were the scientist couple Don Buenaventura had mentioned.
"Welcome to our humble home," the man said warmly. He wore a lab coat, his smile wide.
The woman beside him—clearly his wife—mirrored the same bright expression.
"Please come inside," she said. "Apologies if the place is a little messy."
Once inside, Malchor quietly surveyed the interior.
This doesn't look like a scientist's home at all.
He followed silently behind the old man and his grandson.
"We're glad one of our partners decided to visit," the man said. "What can we do for you, Don Buenaventura?"
"We have something important to discuss," the old man replied with a pleasant smile. "Along with my grandson, Brandon."
Malchor stopped paying attention.
He already knew why they were here.
The dog bite on his leg throbbed faintly. The wound had been deep—painfully deep.
All because of that damned request.
He sighed quietly.
He knew what kind of experiments these people conducted.
Experiments on animals.
Without mercy.
How many animals do they kill in a day? he wondered.
"May we take a look at your laboratory?" Don Buenaventura asked politely.
Malchor's ears perked up.
"Well, of course!" the man replied cheerfully. "Please, come in."
"Do your companions have strong stomachs?" the woman asked jokingly.
But it didn't sound like a joke.
It sounded like a test.
"Don't worry," the old man said. "They're brave."
The old man slowly stood with Brandon's assistance.
Malchor followed behind them, swallowing hard.
The laboratory was located in the basement.
This was where the couple conducted their experiments.
Malchor wasn't sure if stepping inside was a good idea. His courage wavered.
"If you can't handle it, Malchor, you may stay outside," the old man said, noticing his hesitation.
"No… I'm fine," Malchor replied quickly.
"It's your decision," the old man said.
Even before entering, the hairs on Malchor's arms stood on end.
Then the smell hit him.
A thick, overwhelming stench.
"Please wear a face mask," the woman instructed, handing one to each of them. "So you won't inhale any viruses in the lab."
Malchor stepped inside.
The sight nearly made his knees buckle.
Animal organs hung as if freshly removed.
Patches of fur he could no longer identify.
Claws that bore signs of severe torture.
And eyes.
Eyes that seemed to stare directly at them.
His stomach churned violently.
He forced himself not to vomit.
How can they stomach this kind of work? he wondered, struggling to process the horrific scene before him.
"Would you like to watch an animal dissection?" the man asked.
"Sure," Brandon answered eagerly. "Our pleasure."
At that exact moment, Malchor's phone rang.
"E–Excuse me," he said quickly. "I just need to step outside."
He rushed toward the exit.
The moment he stepped out of the laboratory, he tore off his face mask as his stomach twisted violently.
Then he vomited.
He couldn't take it anymore.
Taking a deep breath, Malchor leaned against the wall, haunted by the images he had just seen.
Helpless animals.
Slaughtered without mercy.
All inside the hellish house behind him.