POV: Sarah Johnson
The commercial flight to Prague was the most normal thing that had happened to us in months. No enhanced equipment, no glowing interfaces, no military protocols. Just four people on a plane, pretending to be tourists while carrying enough modified technology to outfit a small army.
"How are you feeling about the neural modifications?" I asked Marcus quietly as we reviewed our cover identities.
"Strange. Like wearing someone else's clothes." He tapped his temple. "I can feel the interface, but it's... muffled. Like listening to music through a wall."
"That's the masking protocol," I explained. "It's designed to make your neural signature appear vulnerable to external control."
"And if someone actually tries to control it?"
"Then we find out how good Dr. Morrison's programming really is."
Pixel looked up from her tablet, which was displaying what appeared to be tourist information about Prague but was actually encrypted intelligence data. "Insertion point is confirmed. We'll be met by a contact who will transport us to the facility."
"Do we know anything about this contact?"
"Only that they're not enhanced and they're being paid very well to ask no questions."
"Reassuring."
Jake was examining what looked like a standard digital camera but was actually a sophisticated scanning device. "I'm still not comfortable with the limited equipment loadout."
"We're supposed to be defecting soldiers, not a military assault team," Marcus reminded him. "Too much equipment would be suspicious."
"I know, but I really wanted to bring more explosives."
"Jake, you have explosives."
"I have some explosives. There's a difference."
"How much destruction are you planning to cause?"
"Enough to make our point."
The contact turned out to be a nervous man in his thirties who spoke broken English and seemed genuinely terrified of us. He drove us through the Czech countryside in a van that smelled like cigarettes and fear, occasionally glancing at us in the rearview mirror like he expected us to spontaneously combust.
"American soldiers?" he asked at one point.
"Former American soldiers," Marcus replied. "We're looking for better employment opportunities."
"Ah. Yes. Good work, they say. Very good money."
"What kind of work?"
"I do not ask. Not safe to ask."
The facility was located in what had once been a Cold War-era military installation, hidden in the hills about two hours from Prague. From the outside, it looked like a corporate retreat center – modern buildings, landscaped grounds, and absolutely no indication that it was housing stolen military technology.
"Impressive," Pixel observed as we approached the main gate. "They've done a complete architectural renovation."
"Very impressive," I agreed. "And very expensive."
The security checkpoint was staffed by enhanced soldiers wearing unmarked uniforms. I could see the telltale signs of neural interface installation – the slight asymmetry in their eye movements, the micro-expressions that indicated they were processing data streams, the way they held themselves with perfect posture.
"Documents," one of them said in accented English.
We handed over our forged identities, which identified us as former military personnel seeking private sector employment. The security guard scanned them with equipment that looked suspiciously like the biometric scanners from Fort Respawn.
"Purpose of visit?"
"Employment interview," Marcus replied. "We were told there might be opportunities for people with our skill set."
The guard looked at us for a long moment, then spoke into a communication device in what sounded like Russian. After a brief conversation, he handed back our documents.
"Proceed to Building C. You will be met there."
Building C turned out to be a reception area that looked like the lobby of an expensive hotel. Soft lighting, comfortable furniture, and classical music playing softly in the background. It was the kind of place designed to make people feel relaxed and welcome.
Which made it infinitely more disturbing than a military facility would have been.
"Gentlemen, lady," came a voice from behind us. "Welcome to our facility."
We turned to see a woman in her forties, professionally dressed, with the kind of smile that cost a lot of money and never reached her eyes. She had the look of someone who'd spent years in corporate boardrooms making decisions about other people's lives.
"I'm Director Kate Volkov," she said, extending her hand. "I understand you're interested in joining our organization."
"We're interested in better opportunities," Marcus replied, shaking her hand. "Our previous employer had certain... philosophical differences with our career goals."
"Yes, I understand the U.S. military can be quite restrictive about freelance work." Her smile widened. "We're much more flexible here."
"What kind of work are you offering?"
"Security consulting. Corporate protection. Specialized military advisory services. The kind of work that pays very well and asks very few questions."
"Sounds perfect," Jake said.
"I'm glad you think so. Now, if you'll follow me, I'd like to show you our facilities and introduce you to some of your potential colleagues."
The tour was impressive and deeply unsettling. The facility had been converted into a high-tech training center with equipment that rivaled anything at Fort Respawn. Combat simulators, medical facilities, communications centers, and residential areas that looked like luxury apartments.
"We believe in taking care of our personnel," Director Volkov explained as we walked through the corridors. "Excellent compensation, full medical coverage, and the opportunity to use your skills in challenging environments."
"What kind of environments?" I asked.
"Varied. Corporate security, government advisory work, specialized military operations. We have contracts with clients around the world."
"What kind of clients?"
"The kind who value discretion and are willing to pay for quality service."
We passed through a common area where several enhanced soldiers were relaxing between training sessions. They looked professional, well-equipped, and completely comfortable with theirsurroundings.
They also looked like they'd been programmed to be comfortable.
"Your colleagues," Director Volkov said, gesturing to the soldiers. "All former military personnel who've found their skills well-compensated here."
"They look happy," Marcus observed.
"They are happy. We've found that satisfied personnel are more effective personnel."
"How do you ensure satisfaction?"
Director Volkov's smile became a little more predatory. "We have excellent human resources policies."
The tour continued through training facilities, equipment stores, and administrative areas. Everything was clean, modern, and designed for maximum efficiency. It was exactly what a private military contractor would look like if they had unlimited funding and no ethical constraints.
"Now," Director Volkov said as we reached what appeared to be a medical facility, "I'd like to discuss your integration into our organization."
"Integration?"
"A simple medical procedure. We need to ensure that your neural interfaces are compatible with our communication systems."
"What kind of procedure?"
"Routine software updates. Compatibility patches. Security protocols." She gestured to a treatment room. "It takes about an hour, and then you'll be fully integrated with our operational systems."
I looked at Marcus, who nodded slightly. This was what we'd been waiting for – the attempt to take control of our neural interfaces.
"That sounds reasonable," Marcus said. "When do we start?"
"Right now, if you're ready. We like to get new personnel operational as quickly as possible."
"We're ready."
Director Volkov led us into the treatment room, where a man in a lab coat was waiting with equipment that looked like a more advanced version of what Dr. Morrison had used to modify our interfaces.
"Dr. Petrov will handle the procedure," she said. "He's our lead technical specialist."
Dr. Petrov looked up from his equipment, and I immediately recognized the type – brilliant, obsessive, and completely unconcerned with the ethical implications of his work.
"Ah, new subjects," he said in heavily accented English. "Please, sit down. This will be quite straightforward."
As we took our seats, I noticed Pixel discretely activating her scanner. Whatever was about to happen, we'd have a complete record of it.
"Now," Dr. Petrov said, approaching Marcus with what looked like a neural interface modification device, "please try to relax. You may feel some disorientation as we establish control protocols."
"Control protocols?" Marcus asked.
"Nothing to worry about. Simply ensuring that your neural interfaces respond properly to our command systems."
Dr. Petrov attached the device to Marcus's temple, and I watched as data began flowing across his monitors. He was attempting to establish a control link with Marcus's neural interface, probably expecting to encounter the vulnerabilities of a first-generation system.
Instead, he was about to encounter Dr. Morrison's countermeasures.
"Interesting," Dr. Petrov murmured, studying his readouts. "Your interface is showing some unusual characteristics."
"Unusual how?" Director Volkov asked, moving closer to the monitors.
"The security protocols are... more sophisticated than expected. Almost as if..." He paused, his expression changing. "This is not a first-generation system."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying these are not the defecting soldiers we were expecting. These are active military personnel with advanced neural interfaces."
Director Volkov's pleasant expression disappeared immediately. "Security to Medical Bay C. Immediate response."
"Well," Jake said cheerfully, "I guess our cover is blown."
"Pity," Marcus said, standing up and removing the neural interface device. "I was enjoying the tour."
"You have no idea what you've walked into," Director Volkov said, backing toward the door. "This facility is home to over sixty enhanced soldiers. You're outnumbered fifteen to one."
"Fifteen to one?" I said, pulling out my medical scanner and reconfiguring it as a neural disruptor. "That hardly seems fair."
"For them," Pixel added, activating her own equipment.
"Jake," Marcus said calmly, "I think it's time for that surprise you mentioned."
Jake's grin was absolutely terrifying. "With pleasure, boss."
He pulled out what looked like a standard emergency flare and twisted the end. Instead of igniting, it began emitting a high-frequency electromagnetic pulse that immediately caused every piece of electronic equipment in the room to start malfunctioning.
"EMP grenade," he explained to Dr. Petrov, who was staring at his dead monitors in horror. "Designed specifically to disrupt neural interface communications."
"You see," Marcus said to Director Volkov as alarms began blaring throughout the facility, "we didn't come here to defect. We came here to shut you down."
"And rescue the soldiers you've been mind-controlling," I added, checking my equipment. "Because that's what we do."
"This is impossible," Director Volkov said. "Our security systems—"
"Are about to learn why Jake Williams is called the Demolition Specialist," Marcus interrupted. "Jake, how long do we have?"
"Until the EMP effects wear off? About ten minutes."
"Until building security responds?"
"About three minutes."
"And until you bring down their entire operation?"
Jake's smile was the kind that made smart people run for cover. "About thirty seconds."
He pulled out a device that looked like a smartphone but was actually a cascade trigger for the facility's power systems. "Remember that technique I developed at Fort Respawn? Turns out it works even better on civilian power grids."
"Jake, you're about to cut power to the entire facility?"
"I'm about to cut power to the entire region. When this goes off, everything within a fifty-kilometer radius is going dark."
"Won't that affect civilians?"
"Temporarily. But it'll also disable every neural interface in the building, which means all those mind-controlled soldiers are about to get their free will back."
"Do it."
Jake activated the device, and the lights went out.
In the darkness, I could hear Director Volkov moving toward what was probably an emergency exit.
"Pixel," I called out, "can you track her?"
"Already on it. She's heading for Building A, probably trying to reach a communication center."
"Jake, Sarah, with me. We're going after her."
"What about the sixty enhanced soldiers?"
"They're about to be very confused and very angry," Marcus said. "I think they'll be more interested in finding out what happened to them than in stopping us."
As we moved through the darkened facility, guided by emergency lighting and Pixel's navigation systems, I could hear voices throughout the building. Confused voices, angry voices, and the unmistakable sound of people demanding answers.
"Tank," I said, "I think your plan is working."
"What plan?"
"The one where we turn their own soldiers against them."
"That wasn't my plan. That was just a happy accident."
"Best kind of plan."
We reached Building A to find it in chaos. Enhanced soldiers were moving through the corridors, but they weren't following any kind of coordinated pattern. They were acting like confused, angry people who'd just realized they'd been manipulated.
"There," Pixel said, pointing to a figure moving toward what looked like a communications center. "Director Volkov."
We followed her through corridors filled with equipment that had been rendered useless by Jake's EMP cascade. Emergency lighting provided just enough illumination to navigate, but not enough to see clearly.
"Director Volkov," Marcus called out as we reached the communications center. "I think we need to talk."
She turned, and I could see she was holding what looked like a satellite phone. "You have no idea what you've done. This organization has contracts with governments and corporations around the world. You've just declared war on some very powerful people."
"Good," I said. "We like a challenge."
"This isn't over."
"No," Marcus agreed, "it's not. But it's over for you."
He gestured to the enhanced soldiers who were gathering in the corridor behind us. They looked confused, angry, and very interested in finding out who'd been controlling their minds.
"I think your employees would like to have a conversation with you," he said.
Director Volkov looked at the soldiers, then at us, then at the dead communications equipment around her.
"Extraction point is compromised," she said into the satellite phone. "Initiating Protocol Seven."
"What's Protocol Seven?" I asked.
Before she could answer, the building's emergency systems activated, and blast doors began sealing throughout the facility.
"Lockdown protocol," Pixel said, checking her scanner. "They're trying to contain everyone inside."
"Why?"
"Because," Director Volkov said with a smile that was absolutely terrifying, "if we can't control them, we eliminate them. All of them."
"She's talking about killing everyone in the facility," I said.
"Including us," Marcus added.
"Including them," Jake said, gesturing to the enhanced soldiers. "Her own people."
"They're not people," Director Volkov said. "They're weapons. And when weapons malfunction, you dispose of them."
That's when I realized we weren't just dealing with a private military contractor. We were dealing with something much worse – people who viewed enhanced soldiers as disposable assets rather than human beings.
"Jake," Marcus said quietly, "please tell me you have a way out of this."
"I have a way out of this."
"What is it?"
"Remember how I said that cascade failure technique works on power grids?"
"Yes."
"Well, it also works on building security systems. And structural support systems. And pretty much any system that uses electronic controls."
"Jake, are you saying you can bring down the entire facility?"
"I'm saying I can bring down the entire facility in a way that creates multiple exit routes while minimizing casualties."
"Do it."
"Are you sure? Because this is going to be very loud."
"Do it."
Jake pulled out another device, this one looking like a modified radio. "Everyone might want to brace for impact."
"Impact from what?"
"From the part where I turn their own building into our extraction route."
The explosion that followed wasn't just loud – it was architectural. Jake had somehow managed to cause a controlled collapse of the facility's non-essential systems while creating exit routes through the blast doors.
As dust and debris settled around us, I could see daylight streaming through newly created openings in the building's walls.
"Gentlemen, lady," Jake said cheerfully, "our ride is here."
Through the largest opening, I could see a helicopter approaching. Not a military helicopter – a civilian medical transport with Red Cross markings.
"Who called in medical support?" Iasked, staring at the approaching helicopter.
"I did," came a familiar voice from behind us. Dr. Morrison emerged from the shadows, wearing full tactical gear and carrying what looked like enough medical equipment to outfit a field hospital. "Did you really think we'd send you in here without backup?"
"You said there was no extraction plan," Marcus said.
"I said there was no extraction plan until you could establish secure communications. You just did that rather dramatically."
Jake looked pleased with himself. "So the building collapse was the signal?"
"The building collapse, the regional power outage, and the satellite communication burst we detected thirty seconds ago. Yes, that was quite a signal."
Director Volkov was still holding her satellite phone, but her expression had changed from confident to calculating. "Dr. Morrison. I should have known you'd be involved in this."
"Kate," Dr. Morrison replied coolly. "Still stealing other people's work, I see."
"You know each other?" I asked.
"Dr. Volkov was one of my graduate students, before she decided that military ethics were optional," Dr. Morrison explained. "She helped design some of the early neural interface protocols."
"Which is how she knew about the first-generation vulnerabilities," Pixel said.
"Exactly. She also knew that Dr. Vance would need someone with her expertise to implement large-scale neural control systems."
"Dr. Vance is here?" Marcus asked.
"Building D," Dr. Morrison said, checking her tablet. "Along with the primary server systems and most of the stolen respawn technology."
"And about thirty enhanced soldiers who just regained their free will and are probably looking for answers," I added, listening to the voices echoing through the facility.
"Which is why we need to move fast," Dr. Morrison said. "Jake, how stable is the remaining structure?"
"Depends on your definition of stable. The main support systems are intact, but I wouldn't recommend staying for lunch."
"Good enough. Sarah, I need you to coordinate medical triage for the enhanced soldiers. Some of them have been under neural control for months, and the sudden disconnection can cause psychological trauma."
"Understood. What about Director Volkov?"
"She's coming with us. We need to know exactly who else is involved in this operation."
Director Volkov smiled, but it wasn't the corporate smile she'd been using earlier. This one was predatory. "You have no idea how deep this goes. The Respawn program isn't the only enhanced soldier project. There are others, in other countries, with other technologies."
"Other countries?" Marcus asked.
"China has been working on genetic enhancement. Russia has developed cybernetic integration systems. Europe has been experimenting with consciousness transfer protocols." She gestured around the damaged facility. "This was just the beta test."
"Beta test for what?"
"For the future of warfare. Enhanced soldiers aren't just weapons – they're the foundation of a new kind of military power. Countries that master this technology will dominate those that don't."
"And you're helping them do it."
"I'm helping the highest bidders do it. Nationalism is an outdated concept when you're dealing with technology this advanced."
Dr. Morrison's expression had gone from professional to genuinely concerned. "Sarah, we need to accelerate our timeline. If she's right about international development of enhancement technologies..."
"Then we're not dealing with an isolated criminal organization," I finished. "We're dealing with the opening stages of an arms race."
"Exactly. And right now, the United States is behind."
The helicopter had landed in what had been the facility's courtyard, and I could see medical personnel disembarking with stretchers and trauma equipment. But they weren't alone – a full tactical team was also exiting the aircraft, wearing the kind of gear that suggested they were prepared for serious resistance.
"Dr. Morrison," Marcus said, "exactly how many people knew about this operation?"
"More than I'm comfortable with," she admitted. "Word about rogue enhanced soldiers has reached some very high levels in the Pentagon."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning this facility is about to be classified as a national security threat, and everyone in it is about to become a person of interest."
"Including us?"
"Especially you. You're the first enhanced soldiers to successfully resist neural control systems and gather intelligence on foreign enhancement programs."
"So we're valuable assets."
"You're invaluable assets. Which means some people are going to want to study you, and other people are going to want to eliminate you."
Jake looked around at the tactical team that was surrounding the building. "And which kind of people are these?"
"The kind that take orders from people I trust. For now."
"For now?"
"Enhanced soldier technology is going to change everything, and change always creates winners and losers. Right now, we're on the winning side. But that could change very quickly."
Through the damaged walls of the facility, I could see enhanced soldiers emerging from various buildings. They looked confused, disoriented, and angry – exactly what you'd expect from people who'd just realized they'd been mind-controlled.
"Dr. Morrison," I said, "we need to get to these soldiers before someone decides they're too dangerous to leave alive."
"Agreed. Sarah, you take medical. Marcus, coordinate with the tactical team. Pixel, I need you to extract every piece of data you can from their systems. Jake..."
"Let me guess – more explosions?"
"Actually, I need you to prevent explosions. Dr. Vance has had months to prepare defensive measures. If he thinks the facility is compromised, he might decide to destroy the evidence."
"Including the enhanced soldiers?"
"Including everyone in the facility."
"Right. So I need to find and disable whatever self-destruct system he's probably installed."
"Can you do that?"
Jake's grin was confident but not as cheerful as usual. "I can do that. But I'm going to need access to the primary power systems, and those are probably in Building D."
"Which is where Dr. Vance is."
"Along with the primary server systems and most of the stolen technology," Marcus added.
"So we need to get into the most heavily defended part of the facility, neutralize a genius-level scientist who's had months to prepare, extract terabytes of classified data, and prevent him from killing everyone in the building."
"That's the mission."
I looked around at my teammates. Marcus was checking his equipment with the methodical precision of someone preparing for urban combat. Pixel was analyzing facility schematics and probably calculating optimal infiltration routes. Jake was examining explosive devices and muttering about architectural weak points.
"You know what?" I said. "This is starting to feel routine."
"Routine?" Dr. Morrison asked.
"Impossible mission, limited resources, overwhelming opposition, and a ticking clock. It's basically how we've spent the last month."
"And you're comfortable with that?"
"We're good at it," Marcus said. "Besides, someone has to stop these people."
"Why us?"
"Because we're the only ones who know how their systems work, we're immune to their control methods, and we're too stubborn to quit."
"Plus," Jake added, "we really don't like it when people try to mind-control our colleagues."
"Fair points," Dr. Morrison said. "In that case, let's go save some enhanced soldiers and prevent an international incident."
"Just another day at the office," I said.
"Sarah?"
"Yeah?"
"Next time, let's try to find a quieter office."