Page 37 of Broken Sentinel

The worker passes without interest, but the interruption serves as a reminder of our precarious position. If Intelligence is already closing in on the sympathizer network and specifically targeting me for extraction tonight, our window for escape is rapidly closing.

We continue toward our assigned sector, maintaining careful professional distance now that we're back in more heavily monitored areas. The mask of Mira Davis, maintenance technician, settles back over me with disturbing ease. I've spent years learning to be what Unity expects: the perfect Sentinel, the loyal enforcer. Now I'm using those same skills to undermine the very system that taught them to me.

"Our shift ends in four hours," Trent notes as we approach the main recycling junction. "The sympathizer transport is scheduled for three hours after that."

"Too long," I say quietly. "If Intelligence is planning to extract me tonight, we need a different approach."

Trent considers this, his tactical mind already formulating alternatives. "There's a secondary access point near Purification Chamber Twelve. The sympathizers use it for emergency extractions when primary routes are compromised."

Where they've been keeping Eden. Smart. Hiding their escape route next to their most valuable secret.

"Can you make contact?" I ask, careful to keep my voice casual as we enter the more populated work area.

"When I check the environmental regulators in section seven," Trent confirms. "Approximately forty minutes from now."

We separate to our assigned stations, maintaining the elaborate fiction of our cover identities. I focus on the chemical balancing systems, my hands moving through the now familiar routines while my mind races with plans and contingencies.

The suppression injection is definitely wearing off now. My hearing continues to sharpen, picking up conversations from across the recycling junction that should be inaudible over the machinery noise. My vision occasionally shifts too, momentary flashes of enhanced perception that reveal the heat signatures of workers and the electromagnetic currents running through the equipment.

I need to keep these symptoms controlled for just a few more hours. If anyone notices the changes—especially the physical manifestations like my eyes shifting color—the extraction Reyes hinted at will happen immediately.

An hour into our shift, I feel the weight of observation. Glancing up from my workstation, I spot surveillance drones positioned near the ceiling, nonstandard models with enhanced scanning capabilities. Intelligence must have deployed them after questioning me.

Trent notices too. He catches my eye briefly from across the junction, a subtle warning in his expression.Be careful. They're watching.

Just fucking great.

I return to my work, keeping my movements deliberate and routine. The surveillance only confirms what we already suspected, that our timeline has been compressed, our margin for error eliminated.

When the shift break signal sounds, I head toward the nutrition station with other workers, careful to maintain the casual social interactions expected of my cover identity. Trent arrives moments later, timing his approach to appear coincidental.

"Environmental fluctuations in section seven confirmed," he announces to the shift supervisor within earshot of several workers. "Requesting authorization for manual recalibration."

"Granted," the supervisor responds without interest. "Take Davis with you. The chemical balance readings are showing similar irregularities."

Perfect. A legitimate reason for both of us to access the area near Purification Chamber Twelve. If Intelligence is monitoring our movements, they'll see only maintenance workers responding to a system issue.

We collect our equipment and head toward section seven, maintaining professional distance until we're in the less monitored maintenance corridors.

"Surveillance drones," I say once we're relatively alone. "Nonstandard models."

"Noticed," Trent confirms. "Deployed approximately twenty minutes after your debriefing concluded. They're accelerating their timeline."

"Can we still reach the sympathizer contact?"

"Yes. The environmental fluctuation is real, I created it to give us cover for accessing the purification sector."

Of course he did. Trent's always ten steps ahead, always planning contingencies I haven't even considered.

"How much of this did you anticipate?" I ask, curious despite our pressing circumstances.

Trent glances at me, something complicated in his expression. "Not the specifics. But the general pattern was predictable once I identified the nature of your changes. Unity's response to perceived contamination follows established protocols."

"You make it sound so clinical. Like I'm a security breach rather than a person."

"To them, you are." His voice softens slightly. "To me, you're...something else entirely."

The admission hangs between us, not quite a declaration but more than we usually allow ourselves. For a moment, I forget about surveillance and extraction plans and genetic modifications. I just see Trent, the man rather than the Sentinel, looking at me with an expression that makes my heart beat faster.

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