“You’re lying,” I said, though doubt crept in. The emptiness in his eyes when he had slapped me proved Brock’s point… but that couldn’t be the end of a man my brother once was. I refused to accept that as a possibility.
“Am I?” Brock stepped closer, challenging. “Your brother belongs to Oblivion now. And your… whatever he is to you”, he gestured dismissively at Ronan, “will be mine again after I purge this unfortunate episode from his programming. You’ve already lost them both. You fought and survived for nothing.”
I watched Ronan’s body contort, fighting against invisible restraints that seemed to be crushing him from the inside. The veins in his neck pulsed blue against flushed skin.
“You know what’s truly remarkable?” Brock continued, turning to face the monitors. “How much pain the human brain can endure before it breaks. Reaper here lasted longer than most. Almost a shame to reset such resilience.”
I caught Ronan’s gaze and held it, trying to pour strength into him through sheer will. This time, Brock noticed the connection between us.
“Oh, you think he can see or hear you?” His smile widened, revealing too many teeth. “He’s trapped in a neural pain loop right now, Ms. Durham. Every synapse fires pain signals. He can’t even form coherent thoughts.”
I maintained eye contact with Ronan unwaveringly. His eyes cleared for just a moment, and recognition flashed through the haze of agony.
“I’ve been patient enough,” Brock said, checking his watch. “Time to end this little standoff.”
He reached steps toward Ronan and I reacted.
“One more move and I shoot,” I warned.
Brock paused, tilting his head. “You won’t. You can’t. You’re not a killer. You’re shaking so badly you’d probably miss me entirely.”
He greatly underestimated me in that department. This world would be a much better place without his presence, though I couldn’t end his life just yet.
“Where exactly is my brother?” I asked, voice steadier than I felt. “What have you done to Xavier?”
Brock’s smile stretched thin. “There’s nothing left of Xavier Hale anymore. We unmade him, piece by piece. Subject designation Blackout is currently on assignment. Very promising operative.” He stepped closer, disregarding the gun entirely. “The Quinta generation has remarkable compliance metrics. Unlike our Prima subjects with their… design flaws.” He gestured toward Ronan with contempt.
Horror washed through me in a cold wave. The gun lowered fractionally as nausea rose in my throat.
Brock seized the opportunity, closing the distance between us. “I know you find it difficult to believe this, but we’re visionaries. Humanity evolved through natural selection. We simply accelerate the process.”
His proximity sent fresh adrenaline spiking through me. I raised the gun again, but doubt had already clouded my resolve.
“You know what truly distinguishes Reaper from the other failures?” Brock asked, suddenly conversational. A strand of hair fell across his forehead, the first imperfection in his polished appearance. “His resistance capacity. Most subjects break completely within days. Ronan lasted weeks.”
Pride crept into Brock’s voice, followed by something darker—resentment.
I glanced at Ronan again, noticing how he seemed to struggle harder, more desperately, whenever our eyes met. An idea formed—desperate, possibly suicidal, but the only option I had.
“I know you can hear me,” I said directly to Ronan, ignoring Brock entirely. “I know you’re still fighting.”
Brock’s laugh cut through the air. “How touching. And utterly pointless.” He turned back to me, eyes gleaming with cruelty. “Shall I demonstrate?”
“Don’t,” I warned, raising the gun higher.
“Anchor,” Brock said, eyes fixed on me rather than Ronan.
Ronan’s body convulsed violently, a choked sound escaping his throat as his spine arched at an unnatural angle.
“Stop it!” I shouted.
“Vessel,” Brock continued, satisfaction spreading across his face as Ronan’s hands clawed at his temples.
“Please, stop!” My finger trembled against the trigger, one ounce of pressure from firing.
Brock’s eyes locked with mine, challenging. “Mari...”
“No!” I screamed, cutting him off before he could complete the sequence. At that moment, I made my choice. I lowered the gun.
