Page 65 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2

The honesty cuts through our attempts to pretend this is just another day. Because Walt’s right.

Food tastes like cardboard.

Sleep comes in fractured nightmares.

Even breathing feels wrong when the most important people in our lives are missing.

The conversation hangs in the air, loaded with implications we can’t voice. Plans we can’t discuss. Promises we can’t make out loud. But the understanding passes between us anyway—when this is over, Malfor won’t just pay for what he’s done.

He’ll suffer for it.

We’re each taking a piece of him.

A knock on the door interrupts the growing tension. CJ enters, carrying a carefully neutral expression that indicates he has intel he can’t share in this contaminated space.

“Gentlemen.” His eyes sweep the room, making contact with each of us. “I need everyone at Insanity this evening. Consider it a team-building exercise following your catastrophic failure the other day on the hostage drill.”

The phrasing is careful. Deliberate. Anyone listening would hear about plans for team-bonding activities. Those of us who know better understand precisely what he’s saying.

Evening fog rolls in from the Pacific as Charlie team makes the familiar trek to Insanity. The gondola waits at the cliff edge like a portal between contaminated and clean worlds. Oneby one, we step into the metal cage, submit to Mitzy’s EMP decontamination, and descend toward the only place on earth where honest conversation becomes possible.

The beach bonfire blazes against gathering darkness when we arrive. Massive logs arranged in perfect formation, flames reaching toward stars emerging between breaks in coastal fog. Sam and CJ stand near the edge of the fire, their faces painted by the dancing firelight. Mitzy crouches beside her equipment array, psychedelic hair catching fire-glow as she monitors decontamination readings.

And there, sitting on weathered driftwood with silver hair immaculate despite the beach environment, is Robert Collins.

Ally’s father. Tech billionaire. The man whose resources could reshape this war. The man whose daughter sleeps in our bed and calls us both the loves of her life. Two men who navigate an uneasy truce.

His pale-blue eyes track our approach with the kind of sharp focus that built corporate empires. When they land on me, then shift to Hank, I catch something that might be resignation flickering across his features.

This is the reality he’s had to accept. His daughter chose both of us. Not one or the other—both. And whatever his personal feelings about that arrangement, he’s smart enough to know, that right now, we’re his best hope of getting her back alive.

“Mr. Collins, thanks for coming down here.” Sam takes point on what promises to be delicate diplomatic terrain.

Collins rises from his driftwood perch with easy confidence that speaks to expensive trainers and disciplined self-care. His handshake carries boardroom authority—firm, controlled, weighted with hostile takeovers and corporate negotiations.

“Forest gave me the basics, but I’m guessing there’s shit you couldn’t say over normal channels.” His voice commands even in this informal setting.

“More than shit. We’re completely fucked.” CJ’s response carries grim finality.

Collins’s eyes sharpen. “How fucked?”

“These nanobots aren’t just listening devices. They’re full infiltration tech. AI colonies designed for long-term intelligence gathering and network penetration.” Mitzy steps forward, tablet in hand, technical enthusiasm barely contained despite the gravity of our situation.

She activates the display, showing microscopic images that make my skin crawl with how thoroughly we’ve been violated.

“Every conversation for the past three months. Every planning session. Every private moment. That bastard has recordings of everything.” Her voice carries scientific fascination warring with human revulsion.

Collins processes this with the kind of clinical detachment that made him successful in cutthroat industries.

“Harrison.” The name carries more weight than a death sentence.

“Your head of security didn’t bring in the nanobots. The Kazakhstan survivors carried them in. Ally, Malia, Malikai—they were infected during captivity. The nanobots spread from there.” Sam’s confirmation cuts through Collins’s assumptions.

“Twenty years. Twenty fucking years I trusted that man with my daughter’s life.” Collins speaks more to himself than to us. The betrayal cuts deeper when it comes from someone who is supposed to protect.

I recognize the particular rage building behind his expression—cold fury that comes when trust gets weaponized against you.

“We need your help setting up operations outside Malfor’s surveillance network. A clean facility where tech specialists can work without contamination.” Mitzy steps forward, her technical expertise taking point on the explanation.