Page 80 of Over the Edge

And the knife in his back.

“For those unfamiliar,” he said when silence fell, his voice ringing out over the courtyard. “Sentinel MK-IV is more than a drone system. It’s an autonomous hunter. Capable of identifying, pursuing, and eliminating targets without operator input. Facial recognition. Thermal imaging. DNA sequencing. This is precision death, gentlemen.”

A few guests applauded. Others leaned in, intrigued. No one looked away.

“But of course, you want proof. Reliability. Accuracy. And what better proof,” he said, smiling now, “than live targets?”

A door opened in the far wall of the area. Two guards dragged Flynn and Lyric in, while another two marched behind with rifles.

My lungs locked. For a split second, I wasn’t an operator. I was just a man watching two people I was supposed to protect being dragged out like animals for slaughter.

They were drugged, barely standing. Flynn’s shirt was missing buttons and a sleeve, his ribs blackened with bruises. Lyric’s red dress hung from one torn strap, a handprint visible on her arm.

Whatever happened, they hadn’t gone quietly.

Even now, they continued to fight against their captors.

Moreau swept a hand toward them. “Our uninvited guests—American operatives who thought to infiltrate our gathering. Ms. Elisa Deveraux, better known as Lyric Renard, and her companion, Flynn Shepherd.”

The guests murmured. One or two chuckled. This was theater to them.

“Fuuuck,” Decker muttered.

The guards cut Flynn’s restraints. He swayed, caught himself, and scanned the crowd. His eyes locked on mine for an instant before he turned to help Lyric as her bindings were also cut off. She staggered but lifted her chin. There was blood on her temple, but her eyes burned with hatred and defiance.

“We used the neural disruptor to ensure a smooth transfer,” Moreau explained. “It’s already wearing off, but the effects are still counteracted immediately by the antidote.”

The guards jabbed them with pressure syringes, similar to the one used during the earlier demonstration of the neural agent.

As soon as the antidote hit, Flynn exploded into motion.

He lunged at the nearest guard, his fist connecting with a brutal crack. The man dropped, but another raised his rifle and aimed at Lyric.

“Move again, and she dies,” the guard barked.

Flynn froze. His chest heaved, muscles locked, one hand clenched in the guard’s shirt. He didn’t look scared. He looked murderous. But he dropped his grip, slowly, jaw grinding like he was chewing glass.

Lyric didn’t flinch. Didn’t plead. She just held her ground beside him, spine straight, eyes locked on Moreau like she could kill him with sheer willpower.

Goddammit, Flynn.

I should’ve expected him to go feral like that. The man had the instincts of a wrecking ball and the impulse control to match.

Beside me, Decker murmured, “We need a plan. Now.”

My fingers itched for the weapon holstered at my back, but I didn’t move. Not yet. If I drew now, I’d get maybe two shots before the guards reacted, and Lyric and Flynn wouldn’t make it out alive.

And neither would we.

Moreau chuckled, watching the scuffle below with obvious delight. “As you can see, our guests have full motor function again. Just in time to give us a demonstration.”

The crowd leaned forward in anticipation as the drone emerged from a hidden panel in the wall. Sleek, matte black, no visible rotors, almost no sound. It hovered six feet above the ground, sensors tracking, lights pulsing red.

“Sentinel uses biometric targeting, facial recognition, and predictive pursuit algorithms,” Moreau told the crowd. “It doesn’t just hunt, it learns. Adapts. But I’m sure you’re wondering, how far can this system go? How fast? How intelligent is it? Tonight, you’ll see for yourselves. And what better way to showcase its ability than to pit it against two highly trained operatives?”

The guards backed up as the drone circled Flynn and Lyric, scanning.

“Targets acquired,” it intoned, voice flat and metallic.

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