Peter instructed a few of the SWAT team members to transport the kids to the agency so that they could undergo some brief testing before being returned to their families. He thought about how he would rather that that not have to be the case, about how he would rather they be safe in their beds as soon as they were transported out of here, but they had to be tested. Otherwise, there was no way of knowing if they were in need of hospitalization. It was more than likely that that same unidentified drug would be found in their bloodstreams.
"Ella said that there were three," Peter said to Agent Lee and Agent Mal Doran after the kids had all vacated the warehouse.
Agent Lee nodded. "You're thinking that there's someone else upstairs?"
"At least one," Peter said, returning the nod. "I'm going to go check it out. You two stay here."
"I really don't think that's a good idea," Agent Mal Doran said, her brown eyes briefly blinking in disagreement. "If there is someone else up there, you shouldn't be going up there alone."
"I'll be fine," Peter insisted.
The two agents reluctantly nodded, doing very little to prevent betraying their disagreement. They shared discouraged expressions with each other, and Peter knew that they would have a word or two to say to each other about him when he was around and that they would probably be sharing their thoughts in their reports, as well, but none of that bothered him. He had to do this. Broyles had doubted him, and he had to prove himself.
He ascended the stairs slowly, and when he reached the top, he looked around him. There wasn't much to see. It was very dark, but he could see very dim lighting coming from a room near the end of the hallway. He transfixed his flashlight directly underneath his weapon, both held out directly in front of him, and followed the light. When he got to the end of the hallway and opened the door, he saw a small office with a desk and a couple of expensively upholstered seats. There were no windows in the room, and the desk, with a very small desk lamp sitting on Peter's right of it, faced the wall opposite to Peter. A man sat at the desk with his back turned to Peter, but Peter didn't need to see his face. He knew exactly who it was.
"You," Peter said, quickly pocketing his flashlight but keeping his weapon aimed at his father, "you did this?"
"I never wanted to, Peter," Walter Bishop replied with what sounded like regret and sadness in his voice, his back still facing Peter. "I know that the realization that your father is Dr. Frankenstein must come as quite a shock to you, but I assure you that it was necessary."
"You are no father of mine," Peter said through gritted teeth. "Stand up slowly and put your hands on top of your head."
"Peter," Walter begged, his voice shaking, "please forgive me. I never wanted to hurt anyone, certainly never my dear granddaughter."
"I won't ask again," Peter replied, ignoring him.
Walter did as he was instructed. "You should know that I don't plan to fight you in any way," Walter reassured him, "nor do I plan to lengthen a trial any more than is necessary by pleading not guilty. Right here and now, I admit to what I did, but what I did was best for all of us, including those children. They are our future, Peter."
Peter approached him and cuffed him and then exited the room with Walter leading the way.
Walter was shoved over to an unidentified SWAT team member, and Peter watched as he was placed in the backseat of one of their vehicles. Walter looked one last time over his shoulder, his eyes pleading with Peter for understanding, something which Peter could never grant him. He didn't plan to ever again take a single look at the man that he had once known as his father.