“Morazin testifies publicly,” I say, “but under conditions that make killing him pointless. A public-release trigger tied to his biometrics—heart rate, blood oxygen, micro-neural activity. If he flatlines, the entire evidence package dumps everywhere.”
Clint’s eyebrows lift. “A dead-man switch… for Morazin.”
“A dead-man megaphone,” I correct.
Lonari stares at the holo schematic as it grows—Kaijen server mirrors, civilian cloud distribution, black-market relay nodes, even some Alliance public newsfeeds that can be hijacked briefly as a broadcast burst.
“This is insane,” Clint whispers.
I don’t look up. “Yes.”
Lonari’s voice is low. “And what stops them from taking civilians hostage to force you to shut it down?”
I pause, fingers hovering.
Because that’s the part that hurts.
That’s the part where morality meets tactics and both bleed.
I look at Lonari.
“We don’t do this without shielding,” I say. “We don’t do it by begging governments to be good. We do it with leverage.”
Lonari’s eyes sharpen. “My leverage plan.”
I nod once. “Your leverage plan.”
He studies me, and I can see the war inside him: the instinct to protect his people versus the understanding that protection without autonomy is just another cage.
Clint clears his throat softly. “You two sound like you’ve been doing this a while.”
Lonari doesn’t look away from me. “Long enough.”
I force myself to breathe and turn back to the terminal.
“Okay,” I say. “Morazin’s biometrics are already monitored in the vault. We add a parallel sensor suite—independent, hidden. We feed the outputs into the public-release trigger.”
Clint leans forward. “If the Nine tries to kill him, it detonates.”
“Exactly,” I say. “If IHC tries to quietly erase him, it detonates. If Alliance tries to ‘accidentally’ transfer him into the void, it detonates.”
Lonari’s voice is rough. “And if they keep him alive but silence him?”
I smile without humor. “Then we build the hearing so he can’t be silenced. Multi-feed, live transcription, independent voice capture. If his audio cuts, the system flags it publicly. ‘Tampering detected.’”
Clint’s mouth opens slightly. “That’s… aggressive.”
“That’s what they deserve,” I say.
Lonari steps closer until he’s beside my chair. I can smell him—smoke and steel, that steady presence that makes the room feel less like it’s spinning.
“You want to force their hand,” he says.
“Yes,” I reply. “No more permission. No more ‘please investigate yourselves.’ We build a situation where the only safe option for them is transparency.”
Lonari’s gaze flicks to the procurement trails. To the civilian oversight committee routing. To the bridge that’s been hijacked.
His jaw tightens. “They will come for you harder.”
