The heavy door was about to close behind me when Rashmoor’s voice, laden with a sinister calmness, stopped me. “Jack, there’s something else I want you to see.” His words slithered across the room like a snake, full of hidden intent. I turned, my hand still resting on the cool metal of the doorknob, and saw him gesture towards the far corner of his expansive office.
There, beneath the stark light of his interrogation lamp, was Natalie. My wife. My heart. Her wrists were bound, and a cloth gag muffled her pleas. The sight of her—so vulnerable, so strong yet so helplessly ensnared—sent a shockwave through my body, threatening to buckle my knees. Rashmoor’s guards stood by her, their faces impassive, their grips firm.
I finally knew why she never responded to any of my recent calls.
“You see, Jack,” Rashmoor began, stepping closer, “your little escapades have consequences, and Natalie here is quite the collateral.” His words oozed venom, and I could feel the colour drain from my face as the room seemed to tilt on its axis.
Rashmoor’s voice continued, and each word was like a hammer blow. “Finish the Gravity Gun, or else…” His threat hung in the air, unfinished but clear as the desert sky. Another member of my family may go missing. The insinuation was unmistakable—a dark echo of Nate’s disappearance, a wound that had never healed, now torn open afresh.
Natalie’s eyes met mine, wide with fear but burning with an inner fire, a silent plea not to yield, not to give in to Rashmoor’s machinations. But the stakes were unimaginable. Rashmoor had made it personal, beyond personal—unforgivably so.
“You monster,” I breathed, my voice a strained whisper. “You won’t get away with this.”
Rashmoor only smiled, a predator baring his teeth. “Oh, Jack. I already have.”
The guards were statuesque, a testament to the power Rashmoor held within these walls. My mind raced—there must be a way out, a solution that wouldn’t end with more loss, more pain.
“Your time is running out, Jack. And so is hers,” Rashmoor added, his gaze flicking towards Natalie with a chilling detachment.
I stepped towards her, and my every instinct was screaming to take her and run. But the guards were immovable. Their hands on their weapons were a clear warning. “Natalie,” I said, my voice thick with emotion, “I’ll fix this. I swear.”
The cloth over her mouth did little to hide the defiance in her muffled protests, her resilience in the face of terror. It was the Natalie I knew, the Natalie who had been my rock. And now, she was Rashmoor’s pawn.
The gravity of the situation was crushing. Rashmoor’s threats, Natalie’s captivity, the looming deadline of the Gravity Gun—it was a trifecta of torment, each element intertwined to create a noose around my neck.
As I left Rashmoor’s office, the image of Natalie, bound and silenced, seared into my memory, I knew what I had to do. I had to finish the Gravity Gun, not for Rashmoor, but to ensure Natalie’s safety. And once that was done, Rashmoor would learn that Jack Thorpinski was not a man to be trifled with.
But I had to be smart about it, I had to be cunning. Rashmoor may have thought he’d won, but the game was far from over. I would finish the Gravity Gun, but I would also find a way to bring Natalie home. Rashmoor had thrown down the gauntlet, and I was ready to fight back with everything I had. The stakes had never been higher, but I was not about to fold.
