Page 72 of Knot Their Fated M.U.S.E

The intention becomes unmistakable—Press has created a literal pathway between Jinx and me, a direct route that bypasses standard institutional barriers while maintaining the illusion of choice within controlled parameters.

"Retrieval window established," Press announces, voice carrying the unmistakable satisfaction of a game master watching pieces move precisely as anticipated. "Temporary containment protocols will maintain separation between designated combatants and peripheral subjects for exactly sixty seconds. After which, standard security parameters will reassert regardless of retrieval status."

The threat requires no elaboration—sixty seconds to navigate the pathway before cage sections retract and feral Alphas gain access to the very corridor designed for retrieval purposes.A direct challenge combining time pressure, physical obstacles, and psychological manipulation in perfect institutional synthesis.

Jinx meets my gaze across the increasingly narrowing distance, something passing between us that requires no verbalization—understanding, recognition, connection that transcends institutional separation and the years stolen through systematic intervention.

She begins moving with deliberate purpose — not the desperate sprint institutional parameters seem designed to produce, but measured advance that maintains tactical awareness despite time limitations.

Each step carries perfect control, each movement optimizing energy expenditure without sacrificing situational assessment.

The controlled Omegas remain motionless as she passes between them, their vacant eyes staring at nothing while their bodies maintain positions with mechanical precision. The feral Alphas grow increasingly frenzied as she approaches the cage opening, their collective howls creating a dissonant soundtrack to this carefully orchestrated reunion.

I should move.

Should advance to meet her halfway, to reduce the distance she must traverse within the limited time parameters. Should demonstrate equivalent commitment to the connection she's risking everything to reestablish.

Yet my body remains frozen in perfect stillness, muscles locked in a comprehensive system override that defies conscious direction or tactical necessity.

Not fear or hesitation, but something approaching reverent disbelief—the irrational certainty that movement might shatter whatever reality allows her presence after so many years of absence.

She passes through the cage opening with fluid grace, stepping onto the corridor formed by living statues without breaking stride or diminishing focus.

Blood still drips from various wounds, fatigue evident in subtle indicators invisible to standard observation, yet she maintains forward momentum with unwavering determination.

Thirty seconds elapsed according to the institutional timer now displayed on monitors throughout the arena—half the allocated period consumed by measured advance rather than desperate sprint. The controlled Omegas begin trembling with increasing intensity, their bodies fighting whatever override maintains unnatural stillness as time progresses toward expiration parameters.

She notices this degradation with tactical precision, pace increasing fractionally without sacrificing situational awareness or control optimization. The adjustment speaks to a comprehensive understanding of both time requirements and environmental factors—the perfect balance between necessary acceleration and tactical preservation.

Twenty seconds remaining.

The feral Alphas have reached unprecedented levels of agitation, their collective frenzy creating physical pressure against remaining cage sections. Metal groans under repeated impact, evidence that even reinforced institutional architecture has limits against concentrated assault from enhanced subjects operating beyond standard parameters.

Fifteen seconds.

She's within ten meters now, close enough that individual injuries become visible beneath blood and grime—the cut above her right eyebrow that will likely scar, the bruising along her jaw from impact that would shatter standard bone structure, the systematic evidence of exactly what qualification is required in terms of physical sacrifice.

Yet her eyes remain clear despite physical compromise—tactical assessment undiminished by fatigue or circumstance,strategic calculation continuing beneath combat requirements and biological pressure.

Ten seconds.

The trembling in the controlled Omegas has progressed to actual movement—small steps away from designated positions, fingers twitching with increasing intensity as whatever override maintains their function begins systematic failure.

The living corridor starts collapsing from the cage end forward, the pathway narrowing with each passing moment as institutional control diminishes against natural resistance.

Five seconds.

She clears the final controlled Omega just as the woman collapses completely, body hitting the floor with puppet-like suddenness as strings are finally cut. The timing appears almost choreographed in its precision—perfect navigation of the closing window with exactly enough margin to prevent entrapment without wasting precious seconds that might be required for the final approach.

Three seconds.

The cage sections begin retracting with hydraulic precision, not waiting for the full sixty-second countdown to complete, but initiating the closure sequence with just enough advance to ensure mechanical completion aligns with temporal expiration.

Another institutional deception disguised as regulatory precision, another example of rules altered mid-application to maximize psychological impact.

Two seconds.

She accelerates with explosive force — covering the final distance between us with combat-trained efficiency that bypasses conventional movement limitations.

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