“Lyric,” I said evenly, “we need access to your main interface.”
“I know,” she replied. “But first, I am required to administer your evaluation.”
Hawk stiffened. “Evaluation?”
“For classification. Behavioral response. Emotional vulnerabilities.”
“Not happening,” he growled.
“You misunderstand.”
A soft hum came from behind us.
The lights overhead dimmed.
“Reese uploaded your psychological profiles,” Lyric said gently. “He wants me to demonstrate the gap between who you believe you are… and who you actually are.”
A hiss echoed down the corridor.
Panels along the walls slid open.
And shapes stepped out.
Not soldiers.
Not drones.
Holograms.
Projected images built from memory—perfect, lifelike, chilling.
One stepped toward us.
A woman. I recognized her right away.
Late forties.
Brown hair pulled back in a simple twist.
Hawk’s breath punched out of him.
I’d never seen him freeze like that.
“Hawk?” I whispered.
His jaw tightened—once, hard.
“Mom,” he said.
His voice broke on the last word.
I lifted my rifle. The hologram blinked, smiled, and spoke in a gentle voice that twisted my stomach.
“Lucas,” she whispered. “Did you forget what you did?”
Hawk flinched like she’d cut him.
“Stop,” I said sharply. “Shut her down.”
