Semua Bab the obsidian proxy: Bab 31 - Bab 40

(The Proxy's Exile)The final, silent command of “Get out,” issued by Julian in the pitch-black penthouse, had been less a dismissal and more a terminal execution. It was the sound of a heart breaking, and in that moment, it was more devastating to Elias than any operational threat Protocol 7 could offer. His hatred, so clear and agonizingly honest, confirmed the ultimate price of her treason: she had saved his life and his legacy, but she had destroyed the only thing she truly desired—his trust.Elias did not pause to acknowledge the sound of her own devastation. The Proxy, the ultimate survival machine, took over. Grief was an indulgence now scheduled for the afterlife. Her escape had to be flawless, executed in the chaotic vacuum created by the sudden, catastrophic power failure and the ensuing corporate systems lockdown.The tactical travel kit, a small, densely packed carryall, was already stashed two floors down, placed there during her final, panicked preparations. It containe

(The Intellectual Hunt)The day after the Collapse was a blur of institutional chaos, but Julian’s mind was frighteningly clear, focused with the sharp, merciless precision of a diamond cutter. He treated his profound grief not as an emotion, but as an operational variable—a source of potential weakness that must be compartmentalized and weaponized.His immediate mission was no longer about saving Thorne Corp, but about deconstructing the lie. The only way to move past the betrayal was to understand the assassin who had executed it. He worked alone, refusing all technical assistance, spending hours staring at the RPO logs, trying to find the flaw in the Proxy’s perfection.The financial motive was clear: The Syndicate wanted the P-Core's structure crippled to facilitate a hostile acquisition of the weakened corporate shell, while simultaneously neutralizing its technological leap. But the execution was flawed.If the mission was total destruction, why the RPO?Julian meticulously trac

(The Shattering Truth)Julian was not thinking about Protocol 7 or the systemic threat. He was consumed by the physical evidence of the lie. He found the blazer—the custom-tailored jacket from their first intimate dinner, the one he hadn’t worn since. It was hanging precisely where he had tossed it days ago, a relic of a memory that now tasted like poison.He ran his hands over the expensive fabric, searching for the tell, the final, undeniable trace of the assassin. He was searching for the hidden microphone, the tracking device, the final insult she had left behind.His fingers brushed against a section of the lining inside the breast pocket that felt subtly wrong—too rigid, too heavy, the stitching too precise for the tailor who usually managed his wardrobe. He grabbed a pair of surgical shears from his first-aid kit and, with a grim determination, carefully cut the seam.Inside the lining, meticulously stitched into the canvas, he found it: a small, heavy External Solid-State Driv

(Julian)Julian spent the next twenty-four hours deep within the RPO code, subsisting on cold coffee and adrenaline. The code base was a masterpiece of paranoia, written in Arthur Thorne’s unique, highly obfuscated style, designed to be resistant to rapid human comprehension. It was a tribute to his father's genius and a testament to the deadly nature of his opposition.Julian’s goal was simple in concept but brutally complex in execution: reverse the RPO’s lethal function. He needed to preserve the Isolation and Cloaking protocols while nullifying the Extraction component—the sequence designed to digitally neutralize the Proxy's unique signature and, by extension, the Proxy herself.The core of the RPO relied on a Biometric Digital Fingerprint (BDF). Every Syndicate Proxy was injected with a nanomachine swarm—an operational requirement for secure communications, resource allocation, and, crucially, remote termination. The RPO-Schema showed the BDF was a real-time, fluctuating digita

(The Syndicate)The Director did not raise his voice. He sat in the minimalist, soundproofed command center, bathed in the cool blue light of holographic projections. His presence was one of absolute, terrifying stillness—a void of emotion that preceded inevitable destruction. The command center was located deep beneath the downtown technology incubator that Julian’s Reverse Trace had identified, disguised behind layers of advanced social engineering.“Explain the P-Core breach again, Analyst Kael.” The Director’s voice was a flat, low monotone, demanding precision.Analyst Kael, his face pale and slick with sweat, pointed to the cascading failure projections. “Sir, Proxy-917 performed a Terminal Burn. The P-Core’s primary operational matrix was reduced to scrambled, irreparable data. The extraction point failed to receive the ‘All-Clear’ signal. We have confirmation of the target asset, Julian Thorne, surviving the incident, as per the secondary objective. However, the unexpected va