Chapter 8: False Outrage

To Reid, Bricks’s order was like a physical attack, resonating through his bones. The red strobe lights cast the hallway in an ominous, blood-red glow. His pistol held low but firm, commanded Reid's attention.

Alessandra's push still echoed in his muscles, her ruffled order "Behave like Max would! Explode! Dominate!" wrestling with the primal compulsion to freeze or run.

Sentiment is extinction. The words in Max's journal cut through the panic. Become him.

Reid didn’t think. He reacted. He channeled the cold, burning fury smoldering in Max’s logs.

He drew himself up to his full height, the bio-modulators pulling his shoulders back and his face hardening into a mask of authoritative outrage.

He didn’t look toward Max’s cell. He locked his Max-modified eyes onto Bricks’s, radiating a contempt so intense it momentarily checked the guard’s advance.

 “What goddamn status report?” Reid spat. His modulated voice, laced with poisonous disdain, slashed through the chaos of the alarms. He took a deliberate step toward Bricks, invading his personal space.

“You clumsy oaf! My perimeter is breached, my recovery interrupted, and you come here asking for reports? Are you West’s attack dog or my chief of security? Do your duty!” He waved a wild gesture toward the sounds rising from deeper within the East Wing—the echoing cries and the sharp crack-hiss of nonlethal blank-firing weapons.

“Contain that breach! Secure all assets! Or I will see to it personally that you spend the rest of your wretched life guarding sewage tunnels!”

For a moment, Bricks was motionless; his beady eyes blinked in shock at the sheer unexpected ferocity directed at him. The gun shook slightly. Max, fueled by Reid’s own fear and anger, was terrifyingly persuasive. Bricks’ jaw tightened as a muscle twitched in his temple. He lowered the pistol a little, his eyes scanning beyond Reid to the locked door where Max was confined, then back to the source of the commotion. His sense of duty struggled against the deep-rooted obedience he still felt toward the man he believed to be his boss.

“East Wing Corridor Beta!” Bricks growled into his tactical radio, finally breaking eye contact. “Multiple breaches. Non-lethal systems active. Reinforce!” He shot Reid a final, lingering look of suspicion and grudging respect, then turned and lumbered off in the direction of the gunfire, drawing a second gun as he went.

Reid collapsed momentarily against the chilly wall, the adrenaline crash weakening his knees. The Max-mask faltered for a microsecond, and a glimpse of the naked fear beneath it surfaced. He looked toward the observation window, where Max was pressed against the glass, his face twisted in anger and… something more? Hope? Comprehension? Max struck his palm flat against the pane, spelling out silent, urgent words Reid couldn’t read. Then, he disappeared back into the darkness of his cell.

Alessandra materialized beside him, her composure slightly regained but her eyes still wide and alert. “Move!” she ordered, grabbing his arm—her grip surprisingly strong. “To the panic room! Now!” She pulled him away from the East Wing toward the main living areas.

They ran through the chaotic estate, security personnel in black tactical gear rushing past them, alarms relentless, and strobing lights casting jagged shadows.

Reid caught glimpses of the “breach”: masked figures in nondescript dark clothing executing coordinated retreats, firing blank rounds that sparked against walls—an action clearly intended to draw security away from the East Wing.

It looked real and felt real, but something about the choreographed efficiency screamed “staged.”

They stopped before a vast blank wall in Max’s office.

Alessandra placed her hand on a seemingly bare section of the wall, and with a muted beep a random panel slid aside, revealing a heavy, vault-style door.

She entered a complex code, then pressed her eye to a retinal scanner. With a hiss, the door slid open.

Inside was a tiny, windowless room crowded with communications gear, screens, and armored walls. A faint scent of antiseptic and chilled steel hung in the air.

As the dense door closed behind them, the outside alarms receded to a muted throb.

A dense, oppressive silence engulfed the room.

Only their harsh breathing and the muted whine of electronics filled the space.

Alessandra rested against the wall, her eyes closing briefly.

Reid watched the bank of screens displaying feeds from throughout the estate: security teams closing in, the “attackers” retreating in an orderly fallback toward the cliffs, and Bricks coordinating the response with ruthless effectiveness.

"Field Test," Alessandra whispered as her eyes opened.

Her eyes locked with Reid's, bereft of her usual calculation and revealing pure exhaustion and terror.

"West's quality-control idea: how you respond under pressure, how we respond. But it's a smokescreen."

She nodded toward the feed displaying the vacant hallway outside Max's cell door.

"To see if being near… him… activated anything. That's the real reason."

Reid rested against a control panel, the weight of what he'd done, barking orders at Bricks, unleashing Max's anger, settling into his stomach like lead. The biomodulators under his skin felt foreign, buzzing with uneasy energy. "I passed, I presume?" he inquired, his voice returning to its natural cadence, the modulator disabled in the comparative safety.

He’d barked orders at Bricks and unleashed Max’s anger.

The biomodulators under his skin felt foreign, buzzing with uneasy vitality.

“I passed, I guess?” he asked, his voice returning to its natural rhythm, the modulator disabled in the comparative safety of the control room.

Alessandra pushed off the wall, stepping closer. The small space amplified her presence, her scent—dark orchids that evoked the feeling of cuddling a soft, lovely teddy bear—flooding Reid’s senses.

“You were magnificent,” she said, her voice low, almost husky. She sounded genuine. “Brilliantly ruthless. Exactly what Max would have done.”

A shadow crossed her face. “It was terrifying.”

Their gazes locked. Mutual adrenaline, cramped proximity, and the naked exposure of their lies crackled between them. The air seemed to pulse, heavy with unspoken words.

Reid was aware of the graceful curve of her neck and the faint throb at her throat. He remembered the thought-stirring brush of her fingertips as she handed him the wine and the warmth of her breath against his ear when she whispered her alliance pitch.

The attraction he felt—a risky spark from their first holographic meeting—reared, magnified by the life-or-death stakes. He glimpsed an echo of it in Alessandra’s dark eyes: a flash of heat, a vulnerability skilfully concealed but not extinguished.

He stepped nearer as if pulled by some unseen force. Alessandra did not retreat. Her eyes fell to his lips, then returned, a question mark hanging in the air.

The recollection of Max’s diary—“Is she mine? Or theirs?”—conflicted with the intoxicating nearness and the promise of a shared destiny.

Reid lifted a hand, his bio-modulated fingers shaking faintly, to push a loose lock of hair from her face, closing the distance…