Page 5 of Broken Sentinel

"Will it hurt?" I'd asked, hating how young I sounded.

Something had flickered across his face then a moment of genuine emotion breaking through the perfect Sentinel facade. "Yes," he'd said simply. "But you're stronger than the pain."

He'd been right about both counts.

"Enhancement protocol initiating," the current technician announces, dragging me back to the present. "Standard neuro-optimization package with adaptive reflex modifiers and sensory enhancement series seven."

The clear liquid flowing through the tubes toward my arm looks harmless, like water, or the artificial tears Unity provides for those assigned to the drier sections of the arcology. I know better. That innocuous fluid contains enough chemical enhancement to kill three average citizens. For me, it's just another day as a Sentinel.

"Commencing intravenous delivery," the technician continues as the needle slides beneath my skin. "Estimated procedure time: seventeen minutes."

I fix my eyes on the ceiling, focusing on my breathing as the familiar cold sensation spreads up my arm. One heartbeat, two, three...and then the burn begins, racing through my veins like liquid fire.

"Heart rate elevating," I hear the technician note clinically. "Within expected parameters."

The pain intensifies, moving from discomfort to agony as the enhancement cocktail reaches my major organs. My muscles seize, back arching slightly off the platform despite my attempts to remain still.

"Respiratory function showing slight irregularity," the technician's voice says, now sounding farther away. "Adjusting oxygen levels."

Through the haze of pain, I'm vaguely aware of the monitoring systems beeping more rapidly. This isn't unusual. The enhancement process is brutal by design, pushing the body to its limits before rebuilding it stronger. What is unusual is the strange double rhythm I can feel in my chest, as though my heart is trying to beat to two different drums.

"Something's wrong." Trent's voice cuts through the fog of pain, sharp with authority. "Her neural patterns are showing anomalous spikes."

"Just standard adaptation response," the technician dismisses. "All Sentinels show similar?—"

"Not like this," Trent interrupts. "Look at the secondary endocrine readings."

I try to focus on their conversation, but the pain is shifting now, transforming into something new. Instead of the familiar burn, I feel a strange tingling sensation spreading outward from my core, almost pleasant, like my body is welcoming the changes rather than fighting them.

That's definitelynotstandard protocol.

"Interesting," the technician murmurs, suddenly more engaged. "She's metabolizing the compounds at 1.7 times the standard rate. I've never seen efficiency like this outside of?—"

"Outside of what?" Trent's voice has an edge I've rarely heard.

"Nothing. Just an anomaly. I'll adjust the flow rate to compensate."

The burning sensation returns as the technician increases the dosage, but it's different now, less like my body is being remade and more like it's fighting against something that doesn't belong there. My vision blurs, colors shifting strangely. For a moment, I swear I can see through the technician's skin to the network of veins beneath, pulsing with each heartbeat.

"—blood pressure dropping," the technician's voice filters back into my awareness. "This doesn't make sense. Her system should be stabilizing, not?—"

"Terminate the procedure." Trent's command cuts through the haze.

"We're only fourteen minutes in. The protocol requires?—"

"I said terminate. Now."

Through my swimming vision, I see Trent move to the control panel, his tall frame blocking the technician's access. Even in my semi-conscious state, I appreciate the fluid efficiency of his movement, like watching a predator position itself between threat and prey.

Except in this scenario, I'm the prey being protected, which makes no sense at all. Unity protocol is clear: the enhancement process is more important than individual Sentinel comfort or even survival. The statistical loss of occasional Sentinels is considered an acceptable trade-off for the improvements in those who successfully adapt.

The burning in my veins begins to subside as the flow of chemicals slows, then stops. I suck in a ragged breath, my enhanced senses gradually returning to their baseline settings.

"What happened?" I manage to ask, my voice rough.

Trent is at my side now, his eyes scanning the vital sign monitors rather than looking at me. "Unexpected reaction to the standard formula."

"Is that...bad?" I push myself up to sitting position, ignoring the wave of dizziness the movement triggers. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

---