Chapter 9: Max’s Failsafe

Alessandra jerked slightly, just enough to kill the atmosphere. She swung sharply toward the monitors, shattering what remained of the spell. "They're withdrawing," she reported, her voice cool and controlled once more, though a subtle flush lingered high on her cheekbones. "Typical of West: create havoc, observe reactions, and then disappear." She indicated the screen depicting the final dark figures rappelling down the cliffs toward unseen vessels. "I bet the damage assessment will be minimal—largely theatrical."

With the moment shattered, Reid felt foolish and exposed.

His Max-mask felt heavier.

“You said you knew things about CipherCore—about bringing Chloe and Marcus… down,” he said, forcing his voice to remain level and businesslike.

Alessandra nodded, her eyes on the screens and her back still to him.

“I do, but trust is something you have to earn first, Reid. You’ve seen Max. You know he hasn’t disappeared. You know what they’ve done.”

She turned at last—her face wary but determined.

“What I require is access. As Max, you have unrestricted access to the Sterling network and physical clearances I don’t have—especially now that West is watching everyone’s moves.”

“What kind of access will that be?” Reid asked, suspicion contending with his desperate need for revenge she dangled.

 “There’s a secure data locker,” she explained. “It’s downtown, off-grid. Max used it for… sensitive acquisitions—evidence he gathered against Celia, West, and your former partners. Proof of the CipherCore theft, the forgeries, and West’s role in orchestrating it all.”

She saw the flare of raw hunger in Reid’s eyes and held up a hand.

“It requires a dual biometric key: Max’s retinal scan and mine. I can get us to the location and bypass the external security, but I need you to provide Max’s scan at the terminal. Only Max can open that final lock.”

Reid’s mind raced. It sounded plausible, but it was also a mousetrap.

“And what do you get?” he asked bluntly.

 “Leverage,” Alessandra said with slight hesitation. “Proof of West’s and Celia’s crimes—evidence they incarcerated Max. With that in hand, I can compel the Sterling Family Trust board to step in, strip Celia of her authority, legally free Max—and prevent Synapse from being weaponized.”

Her gaze locked onto his, intense and resolute.

“I was on Synapse’s core development team, Reid, so I know what it’s capable of and what they intend to do. It cannot fall into their hands. Releasing Max is part of the plan—but exposing the consortium is the only way to hold them back for good.”

The puzzle pieces fell into a terrifying image: Max’s fear about the merger, his failsafe plan, and his dread of weaponisation.

Alessandra’s motivations ran parallel to Reid’s quest for revenge against Chloe and Marcus, but they took a sharp turn at the intersection of their goals over Max’s liberty.

Clean Slate. Remove Proxy. Remove A.

Was Alessandra heading into her own death? Did she even realize?

The external alarms cut out suddenly, leaving a shocking silence.

Bricks’s voice grated over the panic room’s public address system:

“Breach contained. Perimeter secure. Stand down the lockdown. Resume regular activities.”

Alessandra took a trembling breath. “See? Quality control approved it.” She walked to the door controls. “We have to get back to the act—Max will be livid, so use that. I’ll deal with the staff.” She stopped, her hand on the release. “Consider what I’ve said, Reid: the data locker—downtown, tonight. It’s the starting point for all you desire, for destroying them all.”

The estate returned to its regular rhythm, yet tension vibrated just below the surface like a live wire.

Reid played his part, displaying Max’s smoldering anger over the disruption. He prowled the halls, barking orders at the staff and demanding damage reports that were largely irrelevant.

Alessandra embodied the worried wife, smoothing ruffled feathers and quietly reinforcing the narrative of Max’s precarious condition.

When Zain arrived at the prearranged biomod session later that day, he was paler than normal—his hands shaking uncontrollably as he set up his gear in the suite’s med-bay.

Bricks stood guard at the open doorway, a silent, ominous presence.

"P-please, sit, Mr. Brecken," Zain whispered, not meeting his gaze. He loaded the pneumatic injector with the next mix of temporary biomodulators.

The injector hissed when he applied it to Reid's neck. The familiar burning crawl grew stronger, and Reid clenched his fists. Zain glanced nervously at Bricks.

“P-please, have a seat, Mr. Brecken,” Zain whispered, his gaze glued to the floor. He loaded the pneumatic injector with the next dose of temporary biomodulators.

When he pressed it to Reid’s neck, the injector hissed—igniting that familiar burn crawling beneath the skin. Reid clenched his fists. Zain glanced nervously at Bricks.

 “Relax, Zain,” Reid said, his voice modulated like Max’s—cold and commanding. “The disruption was irrelevant—West’s overzealousness.”

Zain flinched at the mention of West. He leaned forward, pretending to realign a sensor pad on Reid’s temple.

His voice dropped to a whisper, his hot, panicked breath hovering over Reid’s ear. “Saw the one behind the door… you saw him—the real one. You know. Clean Slate isn’t just for Synapse…”

He fumbled with a biomod applicator, a tiny pen-shaped device. When he pressed it against Reid’s jaw, Reid felt a small, firm object dislodge from the tip and slide into his palm, hidden by Zain’s trembling hand. Zain’s glasses magnified his wide, fearful eyes.

“His failsafe—core code. Triggers if weaponized… self-destructs. Only he knew… until now. West suspects. Find his journal! Trust no one!”

Reid hadn't had time to react before Bricks moved in the doorway, clearing his throat.

Zain recoiled, nearly dropping the injector. “A-all done for now,” he stammered, shoving every tool back into his kit with trembling fingers. “Stability… is optimal. Helps maintain protocols.”

Without waiting for a response, he bolted past Bricks and out of the room, leaving the door swinging in his wake.

Reid clenched his fist around the small item Zain had handed him. It felt solid yet weightless, no larger than a grain of rice. Instinct told him it was a micro-drive—his failsafe incarnate.

His chest tightened with every heartbeat. Zain’s whispered warnings mirrored Alessandra’s alarm about weaponisation, but this carried a deadlier twist: Clean Slate wasn’t just for Synapse.

Scrawled in the journal was the dreadful contingency plan:

Eliminate proxy. 

Eliminate A

Max’s anticipated paranoia had woven a dead man’s switch that threatened both his imposter and his wife.