Chapter 6: Logs of Betrayal.

The suite was a gilded cage within the vast fortress; no luxury spared. State-of-the-art technology integrated discreetly into the walls and furniture. A glass wall provided a dizzying, captivating view of the roiling ocean.

Reid felt naked. He knew cameras were watching, microphones were eavesdropping, and Bricks stood sentry outside the door like a silent, hulking jailer.

A sprawling king-size frame draped in midnight-blue velvet sat at the room's center. Its ornate headboard of burnished bronze curved like protective wings.

He stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. Millions of thoughts blasted through his mind; Zain's warnings burned hotter. Max must have left clues.

Beneath the plush mattress, biometric sensors fine-tuned temperature and support, aligning with every shift of his form. Two pillows cradled his neck, each quietly monitoring his pulse and whispering posture corrections through the neural AI in his skull.

He stood and let out a deep sigh, sweeping his gaze across the view.

He threw a glance at the door and winced. West had said his movements would not be restrained.

He inched toward the door, breath shallow, hand hovering over the handle as if willing his instincts to override caution.

Just then, the sound of footsteps faded away. It was Bricks walking away.

Exploration was a calculated risk.

He moved with Max's purposeful strides as the bio-modulators subtly adjusted his posture and the neural AI whispered suggestions about Max's likely movements.

The office was his target.

Max's office was a larger version of the suite's aesthetic: a vast desk of polished black stone, embedded screens, and a wall of virtual bookshelves displaying technical journals.

Dominating one wall was a massive moving sculpture—hundreds of suspended polished metal rods that shifted and chimed with almost imperceptible air currents, creating a complex, ever-changing pattern of light and shadow.

It felt like Max: cold, intricate, controlled chaos.

Reid approached it, drawn by its complexity. As he moved, a subtle shift in the air current and a glint of light at an odd angle revealed something—he saw it. There was a hairline seam in the wall behind the sculpture, almost invisible unless you knew where to look. Like the flaw in his CipherCore, he thought grimly: hidden in plain sight.

With his body shielding any possible camera line of sight, he traced the seam with his fingertips; no visible latch presented itself. He pushed. Nothing. He pressed against the sculpture's base; still nothing. Frustration reared.

Recalling Max's likely interest in control and concealed systems, Reid laid his palm flat against a nondescript patch of wall near the seam. A biometric scanner camouflaged as textured concrete hummed under his touch. His Max-modified hand buzzed once. The panel slid silently back to reveal a shallow recess.

Inside were encrypted solid-state drives stacked tidily—no gold, no bearer bonds. Instead, there was one striking odd item: a plain, leather-bound diary. Old-fashioned. Quickly,he slipped a drive and the diary into his pocket, heart pounding. The wall closed as silently as it had opened.

Later, in the relative seclusion of the suite's en-suite bathroom, he swept the space for sensors before pulling out a disposable decryption tool smuggled from the bunker. He used skills dormant since CipherCore's demise to crack the drive. The logs that emerged were fragmented personal entries.

Max's voice, digitally preserved but laced with paranoia and anger

Log 12.07.23 Celia circles like a vulture. The merger pressure intensifies. They want Synapse diluted, control handed to the consortium. My life's work reduced to a weapon for profit.

Log 01.15.24 West's eyes—dead things. He watches Alessandra too intensely. Does she report to him? To Mother? Trust is the greatest weakness.

Log 02.03.24 Failsafe is programmed. If they force the weaponisation route, Synapse will incinerate itself from within—my parting gift to their greed.

Log 02.10.24 Alessandra knows. She must. The way she watches me… Is she mine or theirs? The containment protocols must be finalized. Clean Slate. If I fall, the proxy must not remain. Neither must Alessandra. Sentiment is extinction.

Clean Slate. Erase proxy. Erase Alessandra. Sentiment is extinction.

Reid stared at his reflection—Max's distorted face overlaid on his own horror.

Alessandra wasn't just a possible ally or target; her husband, the man he was impersonating, marked her. And Max wasn't gone—he was contained, trapped by his own mother and West. The icy rage echoing in the logs mirrored Reid's own, only more twisted and horrific.

 A thudding rhythm broke through the stifling quiet of the suite. Distant, insistent—thud… thud… thud. It came from the forbidden East Wing—the section Alessandra had pointedly made off-limits. Max's private apartments? Or his jail?

The Max mask battled Reid Brecken's overwhelming desire to know. The AI remained silent, offering no protocol. Curiosity, Alessandra had warned, was perilous. But Zain's caution shrieked louder: contained.

Reid ignored the biomod-induced stiffness and slid out of his suite, silent footfalls honed by long-practiced hacker stealth as he evaded the ceiling sensors he'd charted.

The thumping grew louder, more desperate, as he glided through the muted corridors toward the East Wing.

A reinforced door—smooth and impassable—blocked the path, and a retinal scanner—discreet but unmistakable—shone beside it. Would the Max's eye work here? It was a huge gamble. He glanced around the deserted hallway, then leaned forward and offered his modified eye to the scanner. With a gentle whirr, and a green light blinked, the door slid open, revealing a brief antiseptic corridor that led to another door with a heavy observation window.

Frantic pounding echoed through it. Reid crept up to the window. Beyond lay a dimly lit, empty room furnished only with a bed bolted to the floor and a reinforced table. Pacing like a caged animal and slamming his fists rhythmically against the unyielding door was Max Sterling—the real Max Sterling.