Page 83 of Over the Edge

I tried to drag myself back behind cover, but my leg refused to respond, a dead weight trailing behind me. The numbness was spreading fast, already creeping up toward my hip. If it reached my torso, I’d be helpless.

The drones converged on my position, sensors glowing brighter as they prepared to finish me off. From his platform, Moreau smiled indulgently, as if watching a child struggle with a particularly challenging puzzle.

A crack split the air as Lyric’s Glock fired once, twice, three times in rapid succession. Perfect shots, each one catching a drone at the precise junction of its sensor array and propulsion system. The machines faltered, their flight paths disrupted as their systems attempted to compensate for the damage.

It bought her just enough time. She broke cover and sprinted toward me. Reckless. Courageous.

My Siren coming to my rescue.

The crowd gasped as she abandoned safety and threw herself into the line of fire. I wanted to shout at her to get back, to save herself, but there wasn’t time.

She reached me as the drones regained stability, grabbing the back of my shirt and dragging me behind a massive stone urn. A volley of darts peppered the ground where we’d been seconds earlier.

“Can you move?” she demanded and checked the wound on my thigh.

I gritted my teeth. “I’m going to kill that French bastard.”

“That didn’t answer the question.”

Yeah, she would catch that. “I don’t know. The numbness is spreading.”

Her eyes met mine, and, for a heartbeat, the warrior’s mask fell, showing the terrified woman beneath. “We need to extract the dart.”

Without waiting for a response, she gripped the dart and pulled it free in one swift movement. Fresh pain lanced through my leg, but the cold burn of the neural agent was already fading. Whatever was in those darts, it required continuous delivery to be fully effective.

“Two rounds left,” she said, checking her pistol. “They’re adapting faster than I expected.”

“Moreau wasn’t exaggerating about the AI,” I agreed, testing my leg. The numbness was receding, but slowly. I’d be at half-capacity at best for the next few minutes.

Above us, a sharp whistle cut through the air. We both looked up to see a familiar face on the terrace above—Trent, his expression grim as he surveyed our situation. He made a quick throwing motion, and two small objects sailed through the air, landing just behind our cover. Earpieces. Then he vanished as quickly as he’d appeared.

I snatched one up and fitted it into my ear. Lyric did the same with the other. There was only static.

“Outlaw, Siren.” Oz’s voice was tight with urgency. “I’m attempting to hack Sentinel’s control systems, but this thing has quantum encryption and adaptive AI. Every time I find a vulnerability, it self-patches.”

“Can you at least jam its targeting?” Lyric asked, ducking as the drone fired through the foliage, missing her by inches.

“Negative. It’s using a closed-circuit system. No external inputs except for initial targeting parameters.” Frustration laced Oz’s voice. “Wait—I’ve got something. The drones are networked to a central hub somewhere in the estate. If I can locate it?—”

His voice cut out abruptly, replaced by static.

“Oz?” I called. Nothing.

The crowd was getting restless, some of them laughing at our desperate scramble for cover. I heard someone place a bet on how long we’d last.

One of the drones hovering near me suddenly shot upward, its sensors scanning the area. It had lost visual contact. I pressed myself flat against the fountain’s base, using the shadows to my advantage.

The ground trembled beneath us as a section of the courtyard’s stone floor slid open. A sleek, midnight-black shape rose from the hidden compartment, twice the size of the drones we’d been fighting. Its surface was featureless except for a ring of pulsing red sensors that rotated slowly, scanning the entire arena.

“What the fuck is that?” I hissed.

Lyric’s face went pale. “The command unit.”

Moreau’s voice carried across the courtyard, dripping with satisfaction. “Ah, you’ve met the mother. Isn’t she beautiful?”

The massive drone hovered silently for three heartbeats before it shuddered and began to separate. Not into four pieces like before—into dozens. Each segment peeled away from the central core, becoming its own autonomous killing machine, until the air above us swarmed with miniature drones no larger than hummingbirds.

“Jesus Christ,” Lyric breathed.

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