The video stuttered to life on my laptop, the timestamp showing three weeks ago.A sterile white room. A man strapped to a chair, electrodes snaking from his temples to a humming console. His pupils were blown wide, his lips moving silently.Then—the scream.It ripped through the safehouse speakers, raw and guttural. The man’s back arched as his skin moved, something slithering beneath his flesh like serpents under silk. His jaw unhinged.And he sang.Not words. Not even sounds a human throat should make. A cascading shriek of notes that sent Eva scrambling backward, her hands clapped over her ears.The screen went black.Silence.Greg’s voice was eerily calm. “That’s what your father’s selling to the highest bidder.”Lina gagged. Jeff looked at me like I held a detonator.And I—I finally understood.“It’s not a cognitive enhancer.” My tongue felt thick. “It’s a control protocol.”Greg nodded. “One heartbeat from the vault’s master terminal, and you’ll have the killswitch codes for e
The safehouse hummed with the kind of quiet that always came before a storm.I sat cross-legged on the floor of the war room, my laptop balanced on my knees, the glow of the screen casting eerie shadows across the classified files Gregory Varga had so generously delivered. The encryption had been child's play to crack—either he severely underestimated me, or he wanted these files found.Jeff leaned over my shoulder, his breath warm against my ear. "That's the Alpine facility." His finger hovered over a blurred image of a concrete compound half-buried in snow. "But these schematics... these are new."I zoomed in. The blueprints showed subterranean levels that hadn't been there when we'd raided the place last winter. Deeper tunnels. Wider chambers. A whole new wing labeled Project Aegis in my father's precise handwriting.Eva appeared at my elbow, a mug of tea steaming in her hands. She'd changed out of Lina's sweatshirt into one of mine—a black cashmere sweater that hung loose around h
The gilded invitation arrived on a Tuesday, slipped between the morning’s security briefing and a stack of unopened Foundation donation requests. Heavy cardstock with embossed lettering, smelling faintly of bergamot and old money—the kind of scent that clung to my father’s study, to the leather-bound ledgers where he tallied his sins like quarterly profits.Mr. Jeff Ortega & Ms. Demetria PerezYou are cordially invited to celebrateThe 50th Anniversary of Rykov InternationalMy fingers tightened around the edge of the paper, creasing the pristine border. Across the breakfast nook, Jeff’s fork clattered against his plate, the sound sharp as a gunshot in the quiet penthouse."Absolutely not." His voice was low, a controlled burn beneath the words.Lina, ever the opportunist, snatched the invitation from my grip before I could react. Her dark eyes danced as she scanned the details. "The Grand Ballroom? Black tie optional?" She grinned, tossing her braid over one shoulder. "Can I come?""
The sterile white lights burned away all shadows, revealing Father standing on an observation platform above us. He looked older than I remembered—his tailored linen suit hanging looser, silver streaking his temples—but his smile remained the same. Chillingly polite."Demetria." He spread his hands. "You've met your sisters, I see."All around us, the golden-branded children floated in their pods, their features varying but all bearing traces of my bone structure, my nose, my stubborn chin.Lina made a wounded noise behind me. "Sisters?"Father's gaze flicked to her. "Granddaughters, technically. Third-generation templates." He tapped the railing. "Though D-1 will always be my favorite."The central pod bubbled as the fluid drained. D-1's body slumped against the glass, her chest motionless. Not dead—dormant.Jeff's pistol never wavered. "What do you want, Ryans?""Want?" Father chuckled. "I already have everything." He pressed a button on his watch.The chamber rumbled as panels slid
The morning sun stung my eyes as we emerged from the ruined facility. The children blinked against the light like newborn kittens, their hospital gowns flapping in the mountain wind. Behind us, the Alpine bunker groaned as its structural integrity finally failed—collapsing in on itself with a thunderous roar that sent birds scattering from the pines.Jeff carried two of the smallest kids in his arms, their heads tucked under his chin. Blood streaked his tactical vest where shrapnel had grazed his ribs, but his voice remained steady as he counted heads. "Twenty-three. That's everyone."Lina came sprinting across the rocky outcrop, her braids flying behind her. Sister Marguerite and Daniela followed at a slower pace, their arms laden with emergency blankets from the Gulfstream."You're alive!" Lina crashed into me, her small frame trembling. "The bombs—I saw the countdown hit zero and—"I hugged her tight, breathing in the scent of her shampoo. "We're okay. Everyone's okay."The lie tas
The little girl's fingers were ice-cold as they closed around mine. "They're coming," she whispered, her silver-ringed eyes reflecting distant emergency lights.Another explosion rocked the vents, sending dust cascading down around us. Jeff's flashlight beam cut through the gloom, revealing dozens of tiny footprints in the grime."How many got out?" I asked softly.XLII held up both hands, then again, then three more fingers. Twenty-three.Ana cursed under her breath. "That leaves nineteen still trapped near B3."The girl tugged my hand urgently. "The bad voice says to follow the red lights. But the red lights lie."Mateo stiffened. "D-0's herding them toward the detonation zone."Jeff was already mapping the vents on his wrist display. "We need to—"XLII suddenly clapped her hands over her ears. "He's singing again!"The psychic backlash hit like a sledgehammer—*D-0's voice twisting through the corridors, mimicking my lullaby. Children crying as they stumbled toward the sound. A cou