The message was short. No signature. No metadata. But it bore all the hallmarks of someone who knew exactly what systems he was addressing.
Your agent has acquired a neural mod proximity-locked to my biometrics. Disrupt the signal chain, and a kill switch closes. —V
Xen didn’t have to wonder where the message came from.
“Hold,” he requested, and flashed it up on the wall for everyone else to read, while simultaneously translating it into ripples of water for Omara.
“Fuck me,” Lung muttered, as Cassia and all of her snakes hissed.
“Goddammit!” Royce shouted in a rare flare of uncontrolled anger.
Ellum began to plan at once. “Remember, she’s powerful in her own right.”
“And we’re not going to lose a yacht as big as that motherfucker’s in the middle of the ocean,” Aceon added.
“No, we are not,” Omara said, Xen translating her determination clearly.
“But what does he want her for?” Lung wondered.
“Mind control bullshit. Obviously,” Cassia said.
“Is this threat legitimate?” Royce asked aloud. “Does this tech exist?”
Xen’s voice came low and even, his lights dimming fractionally as he replied.
“Yes. It exists. The signal chain he mentions would require continuous biometric telemetry—likely heart rate, temperature, cortical signature—fed into a locked handshake circuit. Severing that loop without spoofing a new one would trip any embedded kill protocol instantly.” He paused, cameras narrowing. “We cannot assume he’s bluffing. And if he isn’t—this has been in motion longer than any of us understood.”
“So then we don’t kill him. We just torture him. Profusely,” Omara said in an even tone. “I know you have people, Royce. I’ve even met them.”
Xen knew she meant the Nightmare in MSA’s employ.
“Agreed. But—we need to wait until we’re ready,” Royce said.
“For how long?” Omara asked, the ripple of her voice tightening through the water.
Royce exhaled hard. “I don’t know yet.”
“That’s not an answer,” Omara said flatly.
“It’s the only one I have,” he fired back. “We don’t know what he wants. We don’t know if they’re trying to extract data, ransom her, or use her as leverage. Every scenario has different clocks attached—and different risks.”
“Then let’s stop guessing andfind out,” Aceon growled. “We’ve got sensors, drones, satellites. If they so much as crack a window on that ship?—”
“We’ll be watching,” Xen finished for him. “I’ve already issued remote surveillance orders. If they so much as turn on a kettle, we’ll know what kind of tea they’re brewing.”
That earned him a few tired smirks, but the tension remained.
“We are going after her,” Ellum said, blunt and unshakable. “Right?”
“Yes,” Royce confirmed. “But we do it smart. We gather intelligence. We coordinate with Omara’s allies below. And when we strike—we make sure they never get the chance to retaliate.”
Omara spoke again, slower this time. “I’ll let the krakens know. Certain among them owe me.” Xen watched bubbles roll and pop against the bowl’s inner edge as her suppressed emotion came through the connection more powerfully than her words.
Xen’s cameras surveyed the table—and he noted that Kelly’s body had shifted subtly.
A move which made no sense, considering his body had no one in charge of it, and nowhere to be.
“Lung, please rotate Kelly’s chair ninety degrees?” he asked aloud.
