Chapter 66 - The Black Falcon Protocol
Deep within the irradiated guts of Reactor 5, the blast glass shattered with explosive violence.
William—or the bio-cybernetic husk that had been rebuilt from his broken bones—lunged forward. His movements were inhumanly fast, driven by experimental neural stimulants pumping through synthetic arteries. In his hand was a serrated titanium combat blade, moving in an arc aimed directly at Claire’s throat.
Claire didn't back down.
She parried the strike with the hardened forearm guard of her tactical jacket, the blade sparking off the ceramic weave. The impact rattled her bones, sending a jolt of searing pain through her previously shattered shoulder. The physical strength behind the blow was monstrous—far beyond anything a normal human could muster.
“William! Look at me!” Claire roared, catching his wrist with both hands and twisting his momentum into an over-the-shoulder throw.
The massive soldier crashed against a server rack, sparking blue electrical fire into the damp room. But he didn't stay down. He rolled instantly to his feet, his dead, dilated pupils locking onto Claire without a flicker of recognition. A distorted, synthesized grunt tore from his throat.
“Subject does not recognize emotional input,” Director Sterling’s voice purred over the facility intercom. He had sealed himself in the reinforced elevator ascending to the surface helipad. “He is no longer your brother, One-Eighty-Seven. He is the vanguard of the Lazarus Battalion. A weapon without regret, without fear, and without family. Kill him, and you prove to the world that you are the butcher your mother always claimed you were. Let him kill you, and the project is complete.”
William charged again. He closed the distance with terrifying velocity, driving his shoulder into Claire’s ribs.
She slammed against the concrete wall, the air exploding from her lungs. She tasted blood. The world tilted sideways. William pinned her with an iron arm against her chest, raising the titanium blade high above her face, aiming straight between her eyes.
“Will…” Claire gasped, her vision blurring, blood dripping from her nose. She reached up with a trembling, bare hand and grabbed the dog tag hanging around his neck—the original, bloodstained brass tag from Afghanistan.
“Will… remember the valley,” she whispered, her voice breaking through the operational coldness. “Remember the mountain… you told me to hold the line… when the sky fell.”
The blade descended—and stopped.
Three millimeters from the bridge of Claire’s nose, the titanium tip trembled.
William’s arm shook violently. Hydraulic servos beneath his synthetic skin whined in protest as conflicting electrical impulses surged through his reconstructed cortex. His jaw worked, teeth grinding together with enough force to crack enamel.
In those milky, dead eyes, a tiny spark of blue light flared.
A single word scraped past his shredded vocal cords, raw and human:
*“…Cl… Claire?”*
Claire looked into the face of the brother she had mourned for five agonizing years. Tears finally cut hot tracks through the carbon and blood on her cheeks. “I’m here, Will. I came to bring you home.”
Upstairs, the facility alarm shifted from a low siren to an earsplitting, rapid clatter.
*“CRITICAL COMPROMISE. PURGE PROTOCOL ENGAGED. FACILITY DESTRUCT IN FOUR MINUTES.”*
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Sterling’s voice returned over the speaker, panic stripping away his aristocratic composure: “Detonate the floor! Kill them both! NOW!”
***
