Extra Basket-Chapter 89 - 76: Brandon is Missing?

Location: Oak Hill Academy Gym

Time: 7:50 AM

Date: July 16, 2010 – Thursday

Three days had passed.

Ethan Albarado stood near the edge of the basketball court, wiping sweat off his forehead with his wrist. The sound of sneakers sliding on the polished wood, basketballs bouncing, and teammates talking filled the morning gym. The team was already halfway into warmups.

But something felt off.

He looked around.

Lucas was working on his shooting.

Louie was stretching.

Evan, Aiden, Josh, Ryan—they were all moving, talking, breathing.

Except one.

(Brandon’s still not here.)

Ethan stepped forward and spoke loudly enough for everyone to hear.

"Where’s Brandon?"

Everyone stopped. Lucas looked at the others, then slowly shook his head at Ethan.

"It’s been three days," Ethan said, looking serious. "He hasn’t been at school or training."

The rest of the team looked at each other, unsure of what to say.

Brandon, Evan, Aiden, Josh, and Ryan were third-years, the upperclassmen.

Ethan, Lucas, Kai, Jeremy, and Coonie were second-years.

Louie, the youngest, was a first-year.

Even though Brandon was quiet, he was always there—always showing up, always doing his part. And now, nothing. No texts. No calls. Not even a sign he was okay.

"What happened to him?" Ethan asked again, this time softer.

Ryan Taylor slowly raised his hand.

The usual playboy smirk was gone. He looked serious.

"Ryan?" Ethan said.

Ryan rubbed the back of his head. "I think something’s up with him."

Josh raised a brow. "Why do you say that?"

Ryan looked at the floor as he spoke. "We’ve been friends since we were kids. I’d know if something was wrong with him. Two days ago, I texted him. Nothing. Yesterday, I even went to his house. His mom said he was resting but... she wouldn’t let me in."

The room fell quiet.

(That doesn’t sound right...) Ethan thought.

Josh frowned. "He could be sick or something."

Aiden shook his head. "If he was, Coach would’ve told us by now."

"Unless Coach doesn’t know either," Evan said.

Lucas spoke next, his voice low. "Last few days... he was acting strange. He stayed behind after practice. Just sat on the bench, staring at the floor. He didn’t talk to anyone."

Ethan’s eyes narrowed.

(That’s not like Brandon at all...)

Louie walked up, arms crossed. "So, what now? We just wait? Pretend he’s gonna show up tomorrow?"

"No," Ethan said firmly. "I’m going to his house after practice. I need to know what’s going on."

Ryan stood up too. "I’ll come with you."

Kai looked worried. "Should we tell Coach?"

Ethan shook his head. "Not yet. Let’s find out what’s really going on first."

Jeremy sighed. "Still, something’s not right. I can feel it."

The rest of the team slowly went back to warming up, but their energy had changed.

They moved slower.

No one laughed.

Even the sound of the basketballs bouncing felt heavier than usual.

And deep in everyone’s mind was the same question:

(Where is Brandon?)

.....

Meanwhile the room was dark except for a sliver of light creeping through the blinds.

Brandon sat on the floor beside his bed, knees pulled tightly to his chest. His arms were wrapped around himself, body trembling. Sweat dripped from his forehead even though the room was cold.

He rocked slightly.

"Nononono... no no no..."

His breath hitched. His eyes were red—he hadn’t slept in days. His body was in Oak Hill, but his mind was still stuck in that moment.

"It wasn’t real... I didn’t see that... I didn’t see him..."

His nails dug into his own arms.

"Why was Dad there?"

He shut his eyes tight, but the images kept flashing.

The van.

The kids.

The clipboard.

His father.

"Nononono..."

Then everything stopped.

Silence.

Stillness.

And then—

...

FLASHBACK

Brandon jogged back into the dim gym, his hoodie still damp from practice earlier.

"Damn... left my phone again," he muttered.

The facility was quiet now. Most of the lights were off, just a soft blue glow from emergency exit signs.

He walked past the court, heading toward the locker room.

Then—

Clack.

A sharp metallic sound from the corridor near the basement.

He froze.

"Weird... that came from Dad’s wing."

He moved slowly, careful not to let his footsteps echo. A side door had been left slightly ajar, the hallway beyond dim and cold.

He peeked inside—and stopped breathing.

Four men in black jackets moved down the corridor like shadows. One wheeled a gurney. On it—a kid. Unconscious. A younger player.

Two more kids—maybe orphans—were being led by force. One sobbed softly.

Then, a voice.

"All three for tonight. Prep them for transfer."

A clipboard was handed off.

Brandon’s eyes went wide.

The man taking the clipboard was someone he knew.

His father.

Calm. Silent. Nodding to the masked men like this was routine.

"No... no no no—"

"Dad?!"

His whole body locked up.

He couldn’t move. Could barely breathe.

"What is this? What is he doing?"

Clink!

His elbow brushed against a metal rack behind him.

The noise echoed.

One of the masked men turned.

"Did you hear that?"

"Go check."

Brandon’s heart exploded in his chest.

"Run—RUN—"

He bolted.

Out the hall.

Out the door.

Out into the night.

Didn’t look back.

Didn’t stop.

Didn’t breathe until he was blocks away.

After that day...

He never went back to the gym.

Never spoke to his father.

Barely spoke at all.

Because what he saw changed everything.

........

FLASHBACK – 3 Days Ago

Time: 9:41 PM

Location: Brandon’s Room

Brandon sat in the dark, only the pale glow of his laptop screen lighting his face.

His hands trembled slightly as he typed.

(I have to know what he’s doing. I have to find proof.)

Tabs opened one after another—company records, donation reports, building permits, encrypted files linked to the gym’s back facility. All under different names.

But the connections were there.

Brandon leaned forward, eyes narrowing.

"Why is a private transport company registered to a fake name... that links back to Dad’s foundation?"

A folder popped open.

Invoices. Security clearance documents. Even medical forms.

(These kids... they’re being experimented on?)

His blood went cold.

He clicked through photos—images of the facility’s lower levels. The basement he wasn’t supposed to know existed.

Security logs showed names. Schedules. Transfers.

Then—something worse.

"Shipment: July 14th – 3 subjects – Estimated Arrival: Site E."

"Site E?" Brandon whispered.

(Where are they taking them?)

A knock at the door made him flinch.

He slammed the laptop shut.

His mother’s voice came from the hallway.

"Brandon? Are you okay?"

He didn’t answer.

(Maybe ....She knows... Or not I dont know anymore)

(I’m alone in this.)

He opened his closet and pulled out a box.

Inside—a small camera, a recorder, and an old ID badge he once borrowed from his father during a "Bring Your Kid to Work" day.

(If I can just get back in... if I can catch them in the act...)

His eyes burned with exhaustion and anger.

(Then maybe someone—anyone—will believe me.)

....

FLASHBACK – One Night Ago

Time: 10:12 PM

Location: Private Athletic Facility (Back Lot)

Brandon crouched low behind a rusted generator near the loading dock.

The camera in his hand shook slightly.

He whispered to himself.

"Come on... just show up."

And then—headlights.

The same black van. Same men. Same silent coordination.

He hit record.

They opened the back of the van.

Three kids.

Drugged? Sleepy?

He zoomed in, recognizing one of them—a younger boy who trained at a nearby youth center.

(He’s not supposed to be here.)

Then the voice again.

"Transfer confirmed. Site E security cleared."

A masked man turned.

Behind him...

His father stepped out from the shadows. Calm. Focused. Holding a clipboard.

Just like before.

Brandon clenched his jaw.

(I trusted you... and this is who you really are.)

He pressed the camera tighter to his chest and slowly backed away, disappearing into the darkness.

..

Back to Present

Location: Brandon’s Room

Time: 9:00 AM – July 16, 2010

Brandon sat in the dark, his bed unmade, a small lamp casting faint shadows on the walls. The blinds were drawn tight, blocking out the sunlight. His room felt suffocating—air stale, heavy, almost suffocating.

He hadn’t left his room in days.

His hands were shaking, and his chest was tight. He stared at the floor, unable to focus on anything but the thoughts circling in his mind like vultures.

(What if they’re watching me right now? What if they know I saw them?)

His heart raced. He felt it thudding against his ribs like a drumbeat. Every sound in the house, every creak in the floorboards, every passing car outside made his head spin.

(What if Mom’s involved in this too? Maybe she’s protecting him. Maybe I’m all alone in this.)

Brandon closed his eyes, trying to push the thoughts away, but they only grew louder.

His father’s face flashed in his mind—cold, unbothered. The man who had raised him. The man who was now responsible for... this. The nightmare he’d seen. The kids. The black van. The papers.

He dug his fingers into the palms of his hands, trying to ground himself, but the fear... the paranoia... it wouldn’t stop.

(I can’t trust anyone.)

The door creaked open.

Brandon didn’t even look up.

His mother stood in the doorway, her voice barely a whisper. "Brandon... you need to eat. You haven’t left this room in days."

He flinched at the sound of her voice, but he didn’t respond. Didn’t even lift his head.

She stepped closer, her shoes clicking softly on the wooden floor.

"We’re worried about you. Please, just talk to me. What’s going on?"

Her words were kind—gentle—but Brandon couldn’t hear them. He didn’t want to hear them. Every time he saw her, every time she looked at him, he saw only the same fear and guilt in her eyes.

(She knows. She has to know.)

He pulled the blanket tighter around him, curling into himself, trying to shut everything out. His body was shaking with the weight of it all.

The truth.

The fear.

The constant pressure that clawed at him from all sides.

(If they catch me... If I say too much... If they find out I know what’s really happening...)

His mind raced faster and faster, his breath becoming shallow and uneven. Every breath felt like it was suffocating him.

His mother paused, watching him carefully. She didn’t push this time, but the silence between them stretched on—uncomfortable, suffocating.

"I’m not going anywhere, Brandon," she said softly, her voice cracking with emotion. "But you have to talk to me. You have to let me in."

Brandon didn’t answer. Didn’t even move.

She sighed, but there was no anger in it—only sadness.

She turned and left, closing the door softly behind her.

The room fell back into its heavy silence. The pressure. The constant weight pressing down on him.

(I can’t go back to school. I can’t go back to normal. Not after what I saw. Not after what I know.)

Brandon closed his eyes tightly.

(If I go outside... if I leave this room... I’ll be exposed.)

The fear curled up in his chest, squeezing tighter and tighter. It was too much. Too much to handle.

He couldn’t breathe.

The world outside felt like a threat now. His father’s face haunted him, the images of the kids—those kids—etched into his mind like scars.

(I can’t trust anyone.)

Brandon’s body shook violently as he pulled the blanket tighter around himself. His breathing was ragged now, desperate, but no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t escape the darkness that was closing in on him.

(I’m stuck in here. Trapped in this room. And What if I leave... they’ll find me. What if They know.)

To be continue