A symbol burned onto a black folder.
SENTINEL COGNITIVE ADAPTATION PROGRAM
Oh God.
Oh God.
I wasn’t kidnapped by Sentinel.
I came from Sentinel.
I clutch my head.
“No…”
The voice softens almost kindly.
“There she is.”
Rage detonates beside me.
Clay.
Pure fury rolls off him so violently the tunnel feels smaller.
“What did you do to her?”
The speaker crackles.
“We perfected her.”
Wrong answer.
Clay moves before anyone can stop him.
He storms down the tunnel toward the red lights, weapon raised, murder written all over him.
“Clay!” Russ snaps.
Too late.
Because I’ve never seen this kind of rage before.
Not even in the warehouse.
This is different.
This is personal.
The lights ahead suddenly brighten.
And figures emerge from the darkness.
Black armor.
Motionless.
Waiting.
