The Flashdrive

A short suspense fiction by Faddy Insight

Frustration

The nights had become unbearable. What was once a quiet residential street had turned into a playground for shadows and whispers. Each evening, the woman, strong, observant, and guarded, would lie awake as her dog barked relentlessly. He was not barking at nothing. Hooded strangers crept around her property, smashing her car windows, and stealing small, seemingly insignificant items from her home.

She had reported it. She had asked for help. But no one seemed to care enough. Tired of feeling powerless, she contacted a local security company. By the end of the week, a sleek black camera sat above her porch, scanning every movement, recording every second.

Then something unexpected happened.

Mysterious

One night, while reviewing footage from the previous evening, she noticed a slow-moving vehicle pass by her home. It was not like the usual traffic. This car was deliberate, tinted, and odd. The passenger window was slightly rolled down, revealing a man in a hat and suit. He was on the phone, face tight with tension, speaking with urgency. His gestures were frantic, like someone being threatened. And then, in a quick motion, he slid a small object through the window, something that landed near her hedge.

Curious and cautious, she ventured out the next morning. It was still there: a small, dirt-covered flashdrive.

For days, she hesitated. But curiosity outweighed fear. When she finally opened the files, her hands trembled. They were scientific documents, encrypted research notes, lab photos, and trial data. The words were beyond her understanding, but one thing was clear: this was something big.

News Break

Three days later, while she was pouring herself a cup of coffee, the news broke. A prominent scientist had been found dead. Authorities claimed it was a suicide. But the segment felt rehearsed, sanitized. Something about it did not sit right with her.

The police launched an investigation, and quickly, inconsistencies began to surface. No suicide note. No clear motive. And soon after, a senior officer began tracing links to a major pharmaceutical company.

The Conspiracy

It turned out the scientist had discovered a cure, an effective vaccine for a newly emerging virus. But the company funding his research had other plans. Profits before people. The scientist had been threatened. His research team was killed in what the media called a tragic bus accident. But it was no accident, the bus had been tampered with. He had survived only because his wife went into labour, forcing him to miss the doomed trip.

And he had tried to smuggle the truth out. That truth ended up in her hands.

She took the flashdrive to the same security company that had installed her camera. They dismissed her. “There is no proof,” they said. “No contract. No credibility.” They questioned her integrity and her legal standing. They thought they could silence her.

But what they did not know was that she had copies. She had video proof. And she had already made a move.

Fearful that she might be targeted, she contacted a journalist from a trusted newspaper outlet. The files were delivered. The story went public. Competing pharmaceutical companies got hold of the scientific data and began production.

Weeks later, vaccines flooded the market, safe, affordable, and available to everyone.

She watched it all unfold from her small living room, her dog curled at her feet, the TV flashing headlines she helped make possible.

She was never paid. Never credited. But she smiled.

Because the world would live.

And they never saw her coming.