“Fear.” I let the word hang between us. “Not nervousness or respect—actual fear. The man who calmly ordered my brother to hit me, who spoke about rewiring human brains like discussing a software update, went pale when he mentioned his boss.”
Reaper leaned forward slightly, something predatory awakening in his posture. “That’s significant. Men like Brock don’t fear easily.”
“It made me realize we’re seeing just the operational level of something much larger,” I continued. “Brock may have been your handler, but he’s middle management at best.”
Reaper sat back in his chair, expression thoughtful. “That tracks with fragments I remember. Handlers speaking in whispers about ‘him’ being pleased or displeased. Certain missions requiring ‘approval from above.’”
“I noticed something else, too,” I continued. “Different operatives had different protocols. Those directly selected by the Director appeared to have more… specialized conditioning.”
“Like me.” His voice was low.
I nodded. “Brock implied the Prima generation—your generation—was handpicked by the Director himself. Called you ‘proof of concept.’”
Reaper’s jaw tightened. “Lab rats for his grand vision.”
“If we can identify this Director…” I began.
“We find the head of the snake.” Reaper finished the thought, meeting my gaze with newfound intensity.
“Exactly. Oblivion probably has assets embedded who knows where—government positions, security firms, military units.”
“And each one conditioned to obey without question.” Reaper stood, collecting our plates with mechanical efficiency. “A global network of perfect weapons.”
I watched him move to the sink. “The Director might control operations beyond just the Marionette Project. Criminal enterprises, corporate espionage—who knows how far it extends?”
“A shadow empire.” Reaper’s hands stilled under the running water. “With untraceable soldiers who don’t even know they’re serving.”
The kitchen felt suddenly smaller, the weight of what we were facing pressing in from all sides. This wasn’t just about saving Xavier anymore. This was something far more vast and dangerous than I’d imagined. Men like Brock and the Director could pull all the strings from the shadows if this project were fully operative. It was one thing we couldn’t allow to happen.
A scene started playing before my eyes. I saw Xavier at twelve years old, standing between me and our foster father during one of his drunken rages. He had just come home from the bar, drunk out of his mind, and demanded I bring him yet another beer. Only there wasn’t any in the fridge. And, in the middle of the night, I couldn’t go to the store to get him one. Especially not when I had no money. Blood trickled from Xavier’s split lip as he faced down a man twicehis size. “Go to your room, Mae,” he’d said, chin raised despite the bruise already forming. He had always been my protector.
“Xav…” I murmured, shaking my head.
“Your room. Now. I got this.”
The image shifted to the cold facility room, Xavier’s vacant eyes as he struck me on command. Not my brother anymore—Blackout, an emptied vessel filled with Oblivion’s programming. I fought the burn behind my eyes at the memory. He had protected me so many times in my life—I owed it to him to save him from this now.
“We’re massively outmatched,” I whispered, the reality crushing down on me. “Two people against a global organization with unlimited resources. And even if we somehow found Xavier, what then? What if they’ve made his conditioning permanent?”
Reaper turned from the sink, his eyes sharp on my face. “You’re spiraling.”
“I’m being realistic,” I countered, but my voice sounded hollow even to my own ears. “We don’t have the resources, the manpower.”
“We have something better,” Reaper interrupted, his voice steady. “When I extracted you from Brock’s facility, I secured intelligence.”
This caught my attention completely. “What kind of intelligence?”
“Hard drives. Four of them.” He crossed his arms. “I got to the server room while searching for you. Secondary objective—automatic response. My hands moved before my conscious mind registered what I was doing. Disconnecting, securing. I had thembagged before I even reached the medical wing where they were keeping you.”
My heart raced. “What’s on them?”
“Nothing we can access yet. Military-grade encryption.” His expression turned grimmer. “But given where I found them—the central server room, behind biometric security—they contain operational data. Perhaps files on all their conditioned assets.”
“Including Xavier.” The smallest wave of relief flooded me, though I was still too worried to let myself get lost in it entirely.
He nodded. “Conditioning protocols. Chemical formulations. Command structures.”
“The Director.” Even saying the title sent ice through my veins.
