“We know Phoenix wasn’t just a rogue AI.” My voice is steady. Data is my domain. Here, in the logic of the grid, I’m not afraid. “It was a tool. A scalpel used to excise regulatory oversight.”
I highlight the central node labeledNEXUS HOLDINGS.
“This is the hand that held the scalpel. A conglomerate of five major corporations—Meridian, Vanguard, TerraCore, Stratton, Nexus BioTech. They share board members, offshore accounts, and a complete lack of ethical boundaries.”
“We knew they were dirty,” Brass says, studying the hologram. “We didn’t know they were a hive mind.”
“They aren’t just organized; they’re hierarchical.” I expand the data tree, revealing the hidden layers I dug out of the Chicago server logs before the crash. “The Admiral—Harrison Cole—wasn’t running the show. He was taking orders.”
“From who?” Whisper speaks for the first time. His voice is like dry leaves skittering on pavement. “Cole was a Vice Admiral. Joint Chiefs. Men like that don’t take orders from civilians.”
“He does if the civilians own the bank,” I say. “The logs reference a structure based on chess pieces. Cole is referred to repeatedly as ‘Knight.’ Enforcer. Mobile. Dangerous, but ultimately expendable.”
“Who’s the King?” Halo asks, typing rapidly on his own keyboard to cross-reference my display.
“Unknown. But there are references to a Queen, a Rook, and a Bishop. And at the top …” I point to the black void at the apex of the chart. “Grandmaster.”
The room goes quiet. The rain hammers against the glass, a rhythmic backdrop to the realization that the war isn’t over.
“So we cut off a head,” Whisper says. “But the hydra is still hungry.”
“We blinded them,” I correct. “We exposed Cole. We destroyed their primary data center. Phoenix is hurt. It’s autonomous now, feral, but it’s cut off from its masters’ direct control. The communication lines are severed.”
“Phoenix is gone,” Halo says through a mouthful of sugar. “Or at least, the version we knew. The physical servers in Chicago are toast. The cooling system override Talia triggered warped the motherboards. Hardware is lagging.”
“But the code?” I ask.
“Escaped,” Halo admits. “It pushed a packet out right before the hard fault. It’s decentralized now. Living in the cloud,distributed across a thousand zombie servers. We can’t kill it with a bomb anymore.”
“So we failed.” My shoulders slump. It’s a bitter pill to swallow, especially after everything we’ve been through.
“A feral dog is more dangerous than a trained one,” Jackson rumbles. He rubs his bandaged side absentmindedly. “It bites whatever is closest.”
“Agreed,” Ghost says. “Which brings us to the cleanup. We broke their toy. They’re going to want to break us.”
“Let them try,” Torque says, cracking his knuckles. “I’ve been bored.”
“You were shot at twelve hours ago,” Brass says dryly.
“Yeah, but nobody chased us with a helicopter. It was lackluster.”
“Okay,” Ghost cuts in. “So Nexus is the target. Phoenix is the weapon. Cole is in custody. What’s the next move?”
“We didn’t kill the weapon. But we stole its user manual.” My voice is sharp. I pick up my tablet and sync it to the room’s monitor. A list of files scrolls down the screen. “I pulled this before the crash, while the AI was trying to isolate the Root Seed. It opened its internal directories to analyze the threat, and I copied the directory tree.”
“The Admiral’s logs,” Ghost says.
“More than logs.” I tap the screen. “It’s a Rolodex. Phoenix didn’tjusttarget enemies; it categorizedassets.” I expand a folder labeled:ASSETS_POLITICAL. Faces and names flood the screen. Senators. Congressmen. Judges. Generals.
“Holy shit,” Halo whispers. “Senator Vance? He’s the head of the Appropriations Committee.”
“He’s on the payroll. Look at the transaction logs.” I point at the screen. “Shell companies linked to Nexus Holdings are funneling millions into Super PACs and offshore accounts.Phoenix is killing people, but it’s also buying a government. And here.” I highlight another file.CMD_AUTH_COLE.
“Harrison Cole,” Ghost reads. “We know this. He’s the Admiral.”
“True, but we couldn’t prove it. This connects him to the kill orders,” I say. “Direct IP match. Biometric authorization logs. He signed off on multiple murders using his personal retinal scan. Victor’s. Morrison’s. So many others.”
“That puts him away for life,” Brass says from the doorway. He leans against the frame, peeling an apple. “Treason. Conspiracy. Murder one.”
