Page 52 of Reckless Consequences

Most alarming, my scent glands suddenly activate, neutralizer rendered completely ineffective as the Sterling DNA overwrites Mona’s chemical camouflage. I feel my neck glands swell slightly, releasing a scent that’s neither beta nor omega nor alpha, but something unique—citrus and ozone now layered with complex notes that shift and adapt.

Finn’s eyes widen as he catches the change, his nostrils flaring. “Cayenne, your scent?—”

“I know,” I manage, fighting the disorientation. “Sterling DNA. It’s overriding the neutralizer.”

The door opens with silent hydraulic precision, revealing what could be mission control for a space program. Servers hum in climate-controlled racks. Multiple workstations with curved screens display data streams too complex to comprehend at a glance.

“We have four minutes before scheduled security sweep,” Finn says, moving immediately to the primary access terminal. His hands move across the keyboard with practiced efficiency, bypassing initial security protocols with disturbing ease.

I take the adjacent terminal, focusing on distribution networks while Finn accesses formula databases. The Sterling Industries interface feels uncomfortably familiar—like I’ve used it before, like it was designed with my cognitive patterns in mind.

Even more unsettling, I detect a familiar scent profile that my brain identifies as Sterling. Not my father, but someone carrying the same genetic markers. Someone approaching.

As Finn and I work in parallel, our connection strengthens. We don’t need to speak to coordinate our efforts—his analytical approach and my intuitive hacking creating a synergy that’s uniquely powerful.

“Find anything?” Finn asks, eyes never leaving his screen.

“Distribution records. Multiple shipping manifests.” My stomach drops as I dig deeper. “Finn, they’ve already begun distribution. Facilities in London, Seoul, Johannesburg...”

“Global implementation.” His voice remains steady, but I feel his horror. “How long?”

“First shipments left three days ago.” I scan the data, ice forming in my gut. “They’re calling it a beta virus vaccine.”

“The perfect cover.” Finn’s hands pause momentarily. “No one would question a vaccine during a pandemic.”

“We need to talk to Mona.”

I activate our secure satellite connection, hearing Mona’s voice crackle through the earpiece.

“What’s your status?” Her voice lacks its usual manic energy, focused entirely on the mission.

“We’re in the server room,” I report. “They’re already distributing the formula globally, Mona. Calling it a vaccine.”

Silence stretches for two beats. “That’s problematic. Very advanced timeline. Much acceleration.” Her voice shifts to clinical focus. “Sterling DNA blocker stability?”

“Weakening faster than predicted,” I admit. “But functional enough for now.”

“Continue monitoring. Priority remains system infiltration,” she directs before continuing, “Computer virus disrupts production protocols and formulation specifications. Future batches will be rendered ineffective.”

“So we can still stop this,” I say, hope flickering.

“Eighty-three percent probability. Acceptable risk-benefit ratio.”

“We’re uploading now.” Finn inserts Mona’s specialized drive, initiating the corruption algorithm. “Estimated completion time?”

“Three minutes, fourteen seconds,” Mona calculates. “Though Sterling’s security systems may?—”

The connection cuts with jarring abruptness. Simultaneously, the screens before us flash red, security protocols activating without warning.

“That’s not supposed to happen.” I fight rising panic, fingers flying across the keyboard as I attempt to stabilize the connection. “The upload’s only thirty percent complete.”

Finn works beside me, redirecting system resources to protect the corruption algorithm. “Security breach detection. Not standard protocol—this is targeted response.”

“Someone knows we’re here.” The realization hits with cold certainty.

“Affirmative.” Finn glances at the security feed now visible on a secondary monitor. “Look.”

The monitor shows security teams mobilizing with tactical efficiency. Leading them, looking directly into the camera as if he can see us watching: Alexander Sterling.

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