Page 71 of The Gentleman

“During the initiation of phase one, we detected anomalous activity in London, Test Zone One.” The man fidgeted needlessly with his glasses. “The broadcast parameters have exceeded containment protocols.”

The central screen behind him activated, showing a map of London’s financial district with overlapping signal patterns in pulsing blue.

A woman in the front row raised a hand. “The neural influence was supposed to remain contained within the five-block test radius. The signal degradation should have prevented wider transmission.”

“Yes.” The spectacled man pushed his glasses further up his nose. “We’re detecting resonance patterns across a seventeen-block radius. And expanding. Possibly a harmonic overlap from adjacent Wi-Fi signals.”

Kat tensed beside Leo as chatter broke out in the crowd.

The man at the front raised a hand for silence. Finally, the crowd settled, but concerned looks flashed between members of the audience that spread like ice through Leo’s veins.

A portly man stood up, his lab coat stretched over his abdomen. “Show us the behavioral data.”

The man on stage jerked a nod toward a technician seated at the side of the stage with a laptop.

The screen shifted to a series of graphs and CCTV footage of ordinary Londoners going about their morning—commuters on platforms, baristas serving coffee, office workers entering buildings.

Kat reached for his hand, her fingers looping into his as the footage progressed—commuters slowing mid-stride, baristas staring too long, schoolchildren turning their heads in perfect sync.

Children.

Leo blinked hard, forcing down the burn rising behind his eyes. He hadn’t been fast enough before. He would be this time.

“Subjects within the broadcast field are showing a thirty percent increase in suggestibility.” The man pointed with a laser. “The effect intensifies near smart devices, which are signal amplifiers.”

The room erupted again in loud murmurs.

“We need to shut it down,” someone called out. “If the test parameters have been exceeded?—”

“We will do no such thing,” interrupted a new voice. A woman in a tailored green business suit strode down the center aisle. “We will continue with data collection as originally planned.” She turned and faced the assembled audience, her eyes dark, her mouth a slash of crimson.

“Dr. Reynolds,” the woman addressed the man at the front. “Remind us of the current neural effect profile.”

Reynolds blinked behind his glasses and shifted from foot to foot. “Professor Garner.” His head bobbed. “Of course. As designed, the broadcast creates subtle shifts in thought patterns—not direct control like Raptor’s original microchip technology. Subjects maintain the illusion of autonomy while becoming increasingly receptive to embedded suggestions.”

He clicked to a new slide, showing brain scans.

“The amygdala shows heightened activity, along with suppression in the prefrontal cortex—the areas governing emotional response and critical thinking, respectively.”

“And younger subjects?” she asked.

A hush fell over the room, and Leo’s pulse hammered.

Reynolds’s finger hovered over the button before advancing to the next slide. “As expected, subjects under twenty-five show significantly higher susceptibility. Neural plasticity makes them ideal receivers. In test subjects aged eight to sixteen, we’re seeing nearly double the response rate of adults.”

Leo dragged in a breath.Children. They’re actually fucking targeting children.

“Excellent.” Garner made a semblance of a smile, but her eyes were dead. “And phase two?”

Reynolds directed his pointer to the screen.

Nightshade Deployment.

Phase Two.

NATO Defense ministers summit.

And along the bottom of the slide, a list of file names.

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