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Ch-140
The last thing Miko remembered was the sting of Selene’s stun blast and Nathan’s distant voice shouting her name. Then, only darkness.Now she awoke to cold metal restraints and the low hum of a vessel in motion.The lights above flickered faintly—sterile, blue-white panels embedded in the curved ceiling of a high-security Syndicate transport. Around her, sleek gray walls and reinforced glass screens confirmed what she already suspected: she was airborne, and very far from help.Heavy sedation slowed her thoughts, made her limbs feel like lead. She was strapped into a reclined seat with neural dampeners clamped around her temples and wrists. Each pulse from the restraints sent a mild static buzz through her nervous system, designed to interrupt mental focus and suppress any ring-enhanced abilities.But something had changed.Even in her fogged state, she felt it—the Vision ring, still warm against her skin beneath the wrist cuff. The moment Selene had captured her, Miko thought she'd
Ch-139
The upper ruins of the Syndicate lab gave no hint of what still thrived beneath its shattered shell. Above ground, it was nothing but scorched concrete and collapsed scaffolding, a casualty of earlier drone strikes. But under the facade, Nathan knew, something older and darker lingered, something alive in thought, if not flesh.He moved carefully, hand brushing the carved stone walls of the sub-bunker’s main corridor. They pulsed faintly under his touch—ancient psionic etchings, reactivated. The glyphs weren’t just there to amplify psychic energy. They reinforced mental constructs, stitched illusions into reality, and made escape near impossible once the chamber sealed.This was not just a laboratory.It was a trap!Still, Nathan pressed forward.He passed through the archway into the core chamber, the entrance locking behind him with a magnetic hiss. The air instantly shifted. Thicker. Charged. Like walking into the center of a thunderstorm.They were already there.Three Syndicate t
Ch-138
Rain drops clung to the eaves of the rebel safehouse like guilt. Harper’s boots left sharp echoes in the corridor as she returned from recon—only to find the main hall empty. The board was flickering, the last trace of Miko’s signal gone.“She’s not in her room,” Harper said, pacing fast into the operations wing. “No comms. No ping. Her patch is offline.”Nathan looked up from the table, unreadable. “Selene?”“Gone too.”Nathan exhaled slowly, as if he had already counted down to this moment. He didn’t react with shock—just the weary confirmation of a theory proven right.“She made her move.”Harper frowned. “You knew?”“I didn’t know. But I prepared.” He pushed a small case forward on the console and flipped it open, revealing a cluster of flickering blue dots suspended above a neural mesh map.Harper squinted. “A tracker?”“Not quite. A psychic imprint,” Nathan said. “Passive, keyed to her metabolic resonance. It rides her subconscious like background noise—undetectable unless you’r
Ch-137
The silence at the rebel base had turned ceremonial.After Bishop’s defection and the discovery of the Seventh Ring’s purpose, the war room had run red with overlays—ring lattices, encrypted beacon pulses, and dozens of Syndicate codenames flickering to life across forgotten territories. But Nathan Maddox, the rebel commander, was no longer at the table.He had been summoned.The UN Tribunal in Luxembourg had issued a formal warrant for his presence, citing allegations of unauthorized warfare, civilian endangerment, and worst of all—telepathic intrusion without ethical clearance. The rebel council had protested. Nathan had only raised his hand and said, “Let them see.”Now, the world was watching.The tribunal hall was a crescent of marble and iron, sterile as a tomb and wired with global feeds. Every channel carried the live stream. News banners screamed contradictory headlines: REBEL WARLORD ON TRIAL, SAVIOR OR PSYCHIC TERRORIST?, SYNDICATE WHISTLEBLOWERS DENIED ENTRY.Nathan stood
Ch-136
The footage from Nova Point was still looping across rebel terminals when the signal crackled through: an unidentified vessel requesting asylum. It carried Syndicate clearance, high-level encryption, and a biometric imprint that froze half the command room.“Code match confirmed,” said the rebel technician, eyes wide. “Council seat six. Syndicate internal designation: Bishop.”In the command tent, Nathan stood beside the war table, arms folded. He exchanged a glance with Tenzin, who only nodded grimly.“Bring him in,” Nathan said.The man who stepped off the battered hovercraft didn’t wear Syndicate black. His suit was frayed, gray with soot and salt, and his breathing mask was scorched along one edge. His eyes, however, were clear—sharp, calculating, and exhausted.“I go by Bishop,” he said. “I’ve burned everything else.”Miko narrowed her eyes. “Why defect now?”He didn’t flinch. “Because I watched Marion kill a child last week. Not to send a message. Not to extract information. Jus
Ch-135
The winds at Nova Point howled like wolves, dragging sea-spray high into the misty air. Cold water pounded the jagged cliffside below, echoing in rhythmic crashes. Perched atop those cliffs was the rebel outpost: little more than a radar dish, a rusted comms station, and a bunker carved into the granite. But in the fractured world Marion had left behind, this scrap of land held weight. Nova Point was the last uplink feeding secure rebel transmissions across the Atlantic. If it fell, coordination across half the continent would fracture. Nathan had just left hours ago, recalled to Geneva. Harper had stayed behind, overseeing diagnostics, half-hoping for a quiet shift. Instead, the storm came. “Drone swarm inbound!” shouted Velan, a wiry teenager barely out of training. “Hundred-plus contacts. No IFF tags. All hostile.” Harper leaned over the edge of the bluff and saw them, dark specks against the roiling sky, emerging from the horizon like a plague. Syndicate tech. Fast, aggressiv
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