Chapter 36
TUR
Kimberly is laughing when it starts.
Not a big laugh. Not one of her dangerous, feral ones. Just a quiet breath of sound through her nose, shoulder bumping mine as she leans over the hostess stand, signing off on a supply invoice.
“You’re telling me we paid twelve credits per bulb?” she says. “Tur, I could’ve stolen better lighting out of a collapsed transit tunnel.”
I snort. “You’re the one who said ‘no more theft.’”
“I said less theft. That’s different.”
The front doors slide open behind us with their soft hydraulic sigh. I feel it before I hear it. That shift in pressure. That wrongness in the air. My shoulders tighten automatically.
Four of them walk in.
Alliance gray. Clean boots. Smiles that never reach their eyes.
“Ms. Fierson?” the lead one says, voice warm, bureaucratic, harmless as a receptionist’s.
Kimberly straightens. “That’s me. Can I help you?”
“Routine inspection,” he says, flashing a badge. “Regulatory compliance. Food safety, zoning adherence, post-conflict stabilization review.”
She arches a brow. “You people really love your nouns.”
He chuckles politely. “Occupational hazard.”
My claws itch.
Kimberly glances at me. Just once. A micro-check. You good?
I nod. Barely.
“Sure,” she says. “You want coffee first or are you planning to ruin my afternoon immediately?”
The man smiles wider. Too wide.
“I’m afraid this will only take a moment.”
He steps closer.
Too close.
His sleeve shifts.
Metal glints.
Cuffs.
Everything in me detonates into ice.
“Don’t,” I say.
My voice is low. Flat. Wrong.
The lead operative freezes.
Kimberly looks down. Sees the cuffs sliding out of his sleeve like a magician’s trick.
Her breath catches.
“Tur,” she says softly. Not scared. Alert. Ready.
I’m already moving.
My body doesn’t sprint. It teleports.
My hand slams into the man’s chest, driving him back into the door hard enough to spiderweb the glass. The cuffs clatter to the floor.
The other three reach for weapons.
I bare my teeth.
“Everybody,” I say, voice shaking with restraint, “keep your hands where I can see them or I’m going to turn this restaurant back into a crime scene.”
One of them mutters, “Shit.”
Kimberly steps in front of me.
Not shielding me.
Shielding them.
“Tur,” she says, firm now. “Don’t.”
“They were going to take you,” I snap.
“Yes,” she says. “And you are not going to slaughter four idiots in my dining room.”
The lead operative coughs, blood on his lip. “Ms. Fierson, this is an authorized retrieval.”
“Of me?” she says sharply. “Under what statute?”
“Alliance Oversight Act—”
“Bullshit,” she cuts in. “That act requires a tribunal warrant and jurisdictional handoff.”
His jaw tightens.
My claws extend.
Just a millimeter.
Then—
Every screen in the restaurant flickers.
Every comm unit chirps.
Every datapad lights up at once.
A new voice fills the air.
Flat.
Clinical.
Not human.
“Emergency Oversight Protocol Theta-Nine engaged. Data integrity breach detected. Initiating forced archival release.”
Kimberly whirls. “What the hell is that?”
I don’t answer.
Because I already know.
The walls fill with text.
Files.
Charts.
Medical scans.
Genetic models.
Behavioral projections.
My name is everywhere.
SUBJECT T-UR-019
DESIGNATION: REAPER VARIANT / CONTAINMENT STUDY
PROJECT: BOND-TRIGGER INSTABILITY RESPONSE
My stomach drops through the floor.
“No,” I whisper.
Kimberly’s datapad starts scrolling on its own.
She grabs it.
Her face drains of color.
“Tur,” she breathes. “What is this?”
The voice continues.
“Subject engineered for aggression amplification under emotional bonding stress. Genetic tuning optimized for loyalty-attachment volatility and threat-response escalation.”
I stumble back.
My heel hits a chair leg.
I don’t feel it.
“Placement on Novaria approved under Surveillance Habitat Program. Long-term observation of bond-trigger behavioral collapse.”
Kimberly’s eyes snap to mine.
“You were placed here?” she says. “On purpose?”
My throat closes.
“I didn’t know,” I say hoarsely. “I swear—I didn’t—”
Her datapad scrolls again.
“Collateral subject: K. Fierson. Acceptable loss threshold within experimental parameters. No extraction priority.”
She makes a sound like she’s been punched.
“Acceptable… loss?” she whispers.
The lead operative stares at the screens, pale. “That protocol wasn’t supposed to trigger.”
I turn on him.
My claws fully deploy.
Bone spurs rip through skin.
“You knew,” I say.
“I—” He swallows. “We were told retrieval was for your own safety.”
“For whose safety?” I roar.
The room shakes.
Plates rattle.
Kimberly grabs my arm.
Hard.
“Tur,” she says, voice cracking. “Look at me. Look at me.”
I can’t.
My vision is red.
Every heartbeat sounds like a gunshot.
“They built me,” I choke. “They wired my DNA like a fucking bomb. They put me here to see when I’d break.”
Her hands slide up my arms.
Firm.
Grounding.
“They do not get to decide who you are,” she says fiercely.
“They already did!” I shout. “They turned you into collateral damage in my life!”
She flinches.
Then grabs my face.
“For the last time,” she says, eyes blazing, “I chose you. Not them. Not your genetics. You.”
The operatives start backing toward the door.
I feel the rage crest.
The perfect moment.
The exact scenario they engineered.
Bond threatened.
Betrayal revealed.
Aggression spike imminent.
My body wants to kill.
Everything in me screams for blood.
I shake.
Violently.
“No,” I whisper.
Kimberly presses her forehead to mine.
“Stay with me,” she murmurs. “Right here. Right now.”
My claws tremble.
My vision blurs.
I force them to retract.
One by one.
Agony.
Choice.
I drop to my knees.
Sobbing.
“I won’t be what you made me,” I choke. “I won’t.”
Kimberly sinks down with me, arms locked around my neck.
“I know,” she whispers into my hair. “I know.”
The files keep scrolling.
The truth keeps spilling.
And the Alliance just lost control of the monster they thought they owned.