We're Going Back to Sunkiss

 Chapter 17:  Going Back to Sunkiss Stadium

The Sunkiss Stadium loomed ahead, a relic of past glory now marred by decay. The structure resembled Wrigley Field after a particularly harsh beating from the elements. Darkened corridors greeted Max and Media as they ventured inside, the crumbling walls a testament to the passage of time. Debris littered the halls, remnants of a bygone era when the stadium had thrived. Flickering campfires cast eerie shadows, their feeble light struggling against the encroaching darkness.

Max's keen senses detected the approaching rainstorm, the pitter-patter of raindrops echoing ominously. She quickened her pace, her movements purposeful as she navigated the dilapidated interior. Past deserted concession stands and abandoned restrooms she went, her steps deliberate and cautious. A flash of lightning briefly illuminated her determined face, followed by a deafening clap of thunder.

"Nothing like a rain delay to get the juices flowing," Max muttered to herself, her voice barely audible over the growing storm. She pressed on, her senses on high alert.

In one of the desolate restrooms, Max paused, surveying the surroundings with a mixture of apprehension and resolve. The rows of urinals lining the walls served as a stark reminder of the stadium's former life as a men's restroom.

"So this is what it looks like inside the little boys’ room," Max remarked wryly, her lips quirking into a sardonic smile. She moved to leave but halted abruptly, her attention snagged by an object lying amidst the debris. Brushing aside the detritus, she uncovered a medicine bottle bearing the label "TRYPTOPHAN." Dread gnawed at her insides.

"They're here. Somewhere," Max murmured, her voice tinged with urgency.

Outside, the rain poured relentlessly, transforming the ground into a sodden mess. Amidst the downpour, three figures trudged through the mud, their footsteps muffled by the incessant rain. Two pairs of army-issue boots and a worn pair of hiking boots—identical to those in Media's home—made their way toward a makeshift encampment.

In the heart of the encampment, a military tent stood proudly amidst the storm. Inside, Lydecker stood, his back to the entrance as he engaged in a phone call. The tent flap rustled as Media was escorted inside, his hands bound behind his back. Wilson and the Third Soldier kept a watchful eye on their captive, weapons at the ready.

"Sir, we found him in the square," Wilson reported, his tone crisp and professional.

Lydecker's gaze snapped to Media, his expression one of thinly veiled suspicion. "I'll call you back," he muttered, hanging up the phone with deliberate precision. Closing the distance between them, he regarded Media with a steely gaze.

"Now, what coincidence would bring you here?" Lydecker's voice dripped with menace, his eyes boring into Media's.

Media squirmed under Lydecker's scrutiny, his nerves fraying at the edges. "Well, you know, after our conversation about Sunkiss Park, I decided to come by for a visit," he stammered, his voice betraying his unease.

Lydecker advanced, his presence imposing and domineering. "Really? Funny, I thought you were having problems with agoraphobia and were afraid to go outside. Did you suddenly get cured?" he taunted, his voice dripping with contempt.

As Media stuttered out a feeble excuse, Lydecker's patience wore thin. With a swift motion, he delivered a stinging slap across Media's face, his eyes flashing with fury.

"Obviously, you are not a man of honor," Lydecker spat, his voice laced with disdain. "And I have no problem removing degenerates like you from the country I love."

The tension in the tent was palpable as Lydecker brandished his knife, its gleaming blade a menacing sight. "People like you, who turn an honorable profession like medical research into a perverse, self-indulgent mind trip," he growled, his voice low and dangerous.

Media trembled, his fear evident as Lydecker pressed the knife against his throat. "Wait, wait! You talked about a girl. She's the one who brought me here," he blurted out, desperation coloring his words.

Lydecker's grip loosened, his interest piqued by Media's revelation. "What girl?" he demanded, his tone sharp and commanding.

Media seized the opportunity, his words tumbling out in a rush. "Dark-haired, good-looking, bad attitude," he replied, his voice trembling with urgency.

Lydecker's expression hardened as he processed the information. "Lock him up. I'll deal with him later," he ordered, his voice cold and unyielding.

As the Third Soldier ushered Media out of the tent, Lydecker turned his attention to Wilson. With a sense of purpose, he outlined their plan of action, his voice resolute and unwavering.

"We'll surround the stadium and set up a flank position. I'll rendezvous with the men to launch an interior incursion. The third Platoon moves out five clicks and shuts down every road and trail. Anything that she can squeeze through if she gets out of that stadium. Yes, we're going in with everything we got," Lydecker declared, his determination shining through.

Wilson saluted sharply, his resolve matching that of his commanding officer. "Aye-aye, sir!" he affirmed, his voice ringing out with conviction.

With a nod of approval, Lydecker watched as Wilson exited the tent, his gaze fixed on the stormy horizon. The stage was set, and the hunt was about to begin.