The interface pushed harder as her resistance grew, flooding her system with chemicals designed to induce compliance.
But Nadine had been fighting artificial influences since childhood—first Gregory’s psychological manipulation, then her own fear of attachment, finally the mate bond itself when she’d been too afraid to accept what it offered.
She’d learned to function despite interference with her natural responses.Had learned to find her true self beneath layers of externally imposed expectations.
The neural technology was just another form of coercion to overcome.
The subject’s neural activity is spiking,Dr.Petrov reported with growing alarm.Brain wave patterns indicate she’s fighting the behavioral modifications.
Impossible,Gregory said, but uncertainty colored his voice.The interface technology is specifically designed to override conscious resistance.
Not for someone who’s been resisting external domination her entire life,Nadine said.
Every head in the room turned toward her, shock evident on faces that had assumed her complete helplessness.The interface shrieked with electronic feedback as she forced thoughts past its suppression protocols, raw will overcoming technological sophistication through bloody-minded determination.
That’s impossible,Dr.Petrov said, fingers flying across control surfaces as she tried to reassert the interface’s dominance.Neural pathways should be completely suppressed—
Should be,Nadine agreed, testing the silver restraints.The metal burned against her skin, but pain had always been a teacher rather than an enemy.But you calibrated this system for someone who’d never learned to resist psychological manipulation.Someone who’d never spent years fighting artificial influences.
Teaching her to resist external influences had made her immune to the very technology Gregory had planned to use against her.
You taught me too well, Father,she continued, putting venom into the last word.All those years of training me to compartmentalize pain, to function despite psychological pressure, to maintain my core identity when everything else was stripped away—you created exactly the kind of person who could resist your neural interface.
The restraints were silver-laced but not pure silver, designed more for pain than absolute security.Now, as the interface’s hold faltered, she felt the first restraint begin to give way.
Increase suppression to maximum,Gregory ordered, his disciplined demeanor cracking.Whatever it takes to regain power over her.
Sir, those levels could cause permanent neurological damage—
Do it!
Dr.Petrov’s hands hesitated over the controls, whatever professional ethics she might have left warring with operational necessity.That moment of hesitation gave Nadine the opening she needed.
The first restraint snapped.
Years of combat training, suppressed by the interface but not eliminated, exploded back into consciousness like a dam bursting.Her free hand moved with predatory precision, striking the release mechanism for the remaining restraints with exactly the right force to trigger their emergency protocols.
Security!Gregory shouted, but Nadine was already in motion.
The laboratory erupted into chaos as she flowed from the chair like liquid destruction, no longer fighting the interface but working around it, using the technological suppression as camouflage for movements the operatives couldn’t predict.
Dr.Petrov reached for her sidearm but found herself facing empty space as Nadine pivoted around her grasping hand, the stolen weapon now pressed against the back of the doctor’s skull.
Everyone stays very still,Nadine said.Or we find out if neural interface specialists are as expendable as they pretend other people are.
The laboratory froze—six operatives, two technicians, and Gregory himself, all held in check by one woman with a stolen pistol and nothing left to lose.
You won’t shoot her,Gregory said with calculated confidence.You’re not a killer, Nadine.Not really.I made sure of that.
You’re right,she agreed, adjusting her grip on Dr.Petrov to keep the woman between herself and the room’s other occupants.I’m not a killer.I’m something more dangerous—I’m a protector.And right now, I’m protecting everyone you plan to hurt.
The interface whined with electronic feedback as, with each passing second, more of her natural responses came back online—enhanced senses, predatory reflexes, situational awareness.
The facility’s security systems,she continued, noting camera positions with renewed clarity.How many operatives total?How many between me and the exit?
Even if you could fight your way out,Gregory said,where would you go?Back to that pack that still doesn’t fully trust you?Back to a mate who chose his twin over you when forced to make a choice?
The psychological attack hit its target, whispering in the back of Nadine’s mind that maybe he was right.Maybe Conall really had chosen Quinton when presented with evidence of betrayal.Maybe the mate bond hadn’t been strong enough to overcome their shared history.
