Deep within the compound, a middle-aged, lean gentlemen strode quickly through a fluorescently lit corridor, his cane clicking on the smooth metal floor, flanked by two armed guards. His name was known to only a handful of people on the island, but his arrival could mean deadly prosecution. Today, his business included that dirty business, but not for the one he sought, his genetically half-breed son. Even at the mature age of 17 and after years of hard work, and dedication, he was not to be completely trusted under the minimal supervision of his 'Father'. 
They passed several cells, some with air-tight glass doors, others looking more like metal vaults. The man stopped before one of these doors of steel, once equipped with sliding observation panels long welded shut. Alistair tapped the door three times authoritatively, the clang of his metal cane echoing down the halls, as a glowing sensor emerged from the wall. He set his hand on the screen, and the locks ground open after his handprint was scanned through the island's databases. . .