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Sinrik

Spook’s gaze returned to the bowed head of their devastated Seer across from him on the stealth jet. The sight of him caving in on himself felt like that day in the Noctambule War when they’d uncovered a mass grave of trafficked women and children. It had broken something in all of them.

He wanted to tell Seer he wasn’t alone in that dark place. Spook had literally led them to the ambush. Eveque had been right. Everything had gone perfect except the one thing they’d been commissioned to do—bring that woman back. Their only consolation was saving those women and children. But the rest left him in a constant, devastated headshake.

He returned to bracing against the panic in his muscles that demanded he be with his Eveque in that med bay at the back of the jet. He was in the best hands with Harlow and Quantum and the triplets, but it still felt wrong not being there. The occasional squeeze of Maggie’s hand felt wrong too. But he squeezed back every time. This darkness wasn’t touching her more than it already had.

Spook’s habit of surveying his surroundings brought his gaze to Zodak again. Another one in a special kind of hell. To be forced to watch as they took what any of them would die to protect—one of their women—was without a doubt the fucking worst headspace to be in. But Spook had felt Belle Eveque’s power when she’d ordered them to stop for those kids. Felt like his entire genealogy had been knocked on its ass by the universe. And he was pretty sure she had no fucking idea still. It was the sole relief for him as he sat in his own private hell. Yes, she’d been taken. But that terrifying power was traveling with her wherever she went.

But Seer’s agony was different. Somehow deeper and darker. It insisted Spook protect their spiritual brother which brought him to utter uselessness in that regard. He believed in God with every fiber of his being. And up to that second, he was fully content being a foot soldier that never dreamed of taking one step into The King’s courts, but now, he really wanted to just carry his brother directly to the throne and lay him at God’s merciful feet.

Spook forced his gaze to the little girl sitting next to Maggie, her tiny hands clutching his wife’s. She was safe. Like those other women and children. He thanked God again. He had ultimate power. And to forget that at such a time was not a kind of stupid Spook possessed.

The barest muffle of words from the med bay reached him and he tuned his ear. Seer suddenly hurried out of his harness and Spook did too, following him down the narrow hall.

They came up to the small room on the right and Seer paused at the compartment jam-packed with equipment, blinking monitors and the single med-bed holding their Eveque.

Seer’s breath rushed out and Spook put his hand on his shoulder, squeezing. Seer covered his hand, the agony in his grip driving a burning stake through his chest. They both stared at their unbreakable Eveque, face swollen and bruised, gashes from shrapnel dark and clotted now. One of the monitors blasted with his racing, walloping heartbeat, bringing Spook’s pulse to the same tempo.

The triplets stood around his head, each touching his body while Harlow and Quantum moved quickly on either side of the bed.

“His vitals sound strong,” Spook whispered at Seer’s ear, trying not to look at Eveque’s swollen face and the patch covering one of his eyes.

Seer’s breaths shook. “He’s fighting for his life.”

Spook wrapped him in a bear hug from behind at hearing him on a mental ledge. “He’s strong,” he swore at his ear. “He’s got that bat juice and our three amigos helping hold him together. He’s gonna be okay.”

Spook called out quietly after a minute of watching. “How’s he doing?”

Harlow glanced up at the monitors next to the bed. “His cells are rebuilding themselves, which isn’t a surprise. But they’re outpacing what his body can handle and keep fighting to override Fin’s attempt to buffer its speed. The adaptive evolution gene fully understands the damage he’s sustained and wants to rebuild him stronger.”

“And that’s... good, right?” Spook thought.

“It's fucking phenomenal,” he corrected in hushed awe. “But it seems to be forgetting his current body isn’t able to handle very much in this condition but no doubt there’s other emergency protocols in his head overriding that if you know what I’m sayin’.”

He did. His Eveque didn’t give a shit about his own body, he only cared about doing whatever the fuck it took to save his wife, even if that meant razor-edging death to do it.

“We’re nearly there,” Quantum said. “Once we get him to the Neuromancer, it’ll be able to tell us exactly what’s happening and what to do to aid it.”

“These nutrient-rich fluids will give him a little gas till then,” Harlow said, tapping the IV bag next to him. “Emphasis on little.” He glanced back at them, his blue eyes wearied but determined. “His abilities are gobbling it down like a pissed off wildfire.”

Quantum placed a pen-looking device on Eveque’s chest. “This energy suppression unit isn’t much, but hopefully it’ll slow his cells down. Keep them from overloading.”

The jet dipped and jostled the cabin as Quantum braced a hand on the wall next to him, eyeing Bishop’s vitals. “Dammit, he’s fighting it,” he muttered, removing the device from his chest.

“It’s remarkable,” Fin said quietly, his eyes closed. “It’s powerful and relentless. Everything I use to block, it adapts and overrides.”

“Just keep playing power tennis with him,” Harlow urged. “We’re only two minutes out now.”

****

Sinrik didn’t move his eyes from the screen as he pressed the intercom through the explosion of adrenaline rushing through his veins. “Morgue. Explain what I’m looking at on Level Four.”

“The woman requested secure holding, sir. I assessed her as low risk.”

His top soldier’s casual malfunction brought a surge of chaos into the brewing storm in his blood. “Where did she come from?”

“From within a civilian’s amphibious rig, sir,” Morgue said, his answer steady, like this was nothing but standard inventory. “She presented herself and requested I take her with us.”

Sinrik’s pulse beat faster at his bizarre words. Requested. “Recite Directive Nine, Morgue.”

“No unauthorized entry or intake of external assets without direct clearance. No exceptions.”

“Morgue,” he said, evenly. “Report to Med-Lab One for a full neuro-diagnostic.”

“Yes, sir,” Morgue said with zero flicker, wonder, or doubt.

What the fuck was going on?

Sinrik cut the line, his gaze fixed on the breach, sitting on the cell floor. There, by a single request that bypassed Directive Nine, the cornerstone of his operation. Morgue’s calm and factual tone only underscored the magnitude of this disturbance in his carefully controlled empire. Mayhem was his first language, and he spoke it fluently. He bent chaos to his will and constructed a domain of iron control in which every element, no matter the outcome, had a home in his clenched fist.

Through years of havoc and broken allegiances, he’d discovered the music to the madness and created a symphony of anarchy with it. Control was a puppet. Mayhem was its master. And he was a Master of Mayhem.

And yet, here she was. An unforeseen anomaly. A fracture in the foundation. An uninvited guest in the intricate layers of his empire.

He drummed the tips of his fingers on the console, studying the screen until chaos churned under his composure.

He stood and left the command center, heading for the passageway leading to the lower levels. Every step tightened his focus.

There by request .

Morgue was not designed to even interact with such a concept. He was not capable of processing it. And yet, again, here she was.

He counted on variables in his carefully ordered anarchy—welcomed them. This was no exception. And once he was done obtaining and dissecting all the details from her, he’d let Mr. Morgue tidy his messy loose end.

****

“Neuromancer, boot up,” Quantum called out as they raced Eveque through the corridor to the medical facility.

Spook followed them into the room, tugging Seer to the side while they maneuvered the stretcher next to a humming sleek silver pod lit up with blue lights.

“Neuromancer awaiting sync,” a computerized female voice announced.

The triplets moved Eveque into the open pod, the lights casting a glow over his battered face. Every line and shadow seemed deeper than before.

The triplets stepped back, and the machine gave a mechanical hum as silver metal bars rose from along the pod bed and lowered over various parts of his body. Spook’s pulse kicked up at realizing they were padded restraints. They covered every limb before clicking, indicating they were locked in place.

“Get his vitals online,” Quantum ordered Harlow.

“They’re on the way.”

Tension gripped Spook’s lungs as another restraint closed over Eveque’s chest then rose around his head till he resembled a man gripped in metal teeth.

Seer slowly moved closer to the pod and Spook shadowed him. They stopped, watching Eveque’s chest push against the restraints with shallow breaths. The lights on the machine flickered and the restraints hummed and moved again.

“It’s calibrating to his body,” Fetch softly explained next to them, making him realize they were also watching. “It’s important he remain completely still.”

A million questions leapt on his tongue as he surrendered his Eveque to these other brothers. He clamped both hands down on Seer’s shoulder from behind, needing something to hold. “More for me than you, brother,” he muttered at his ear.

“What’s happening?” Seer whispered as the lid to the machine closed and sealed around him with a low hiss.

“The machine will scan his condition and give them a read out of his current internal blueprint,” Fetch said.

Harlow watched the monitors above the machine. “His adaptive regeneration is definitely active,” he murmured. “But…holy shit, look at the complexity of these layers . ”

Quantum’s hand hovered over a panel, his golden eyes flicking between readings. “This process, at a safe pace, would take six weeks. We can narrow it to seven days with the CARP protocol which stands for Controlled Adaptive Regeneration Process. Each day targets a specific system—nerves, muscles, organs—allowing his body to heal in stages. Stabilization phases ensure his systems adapt without failure.”

Harlow chimed in, “It’s fueled by synthetic ATP and neural synchronization. Think of it as rebuilding him layer by layer, but safely.”

Spook watched the monitors in silence, his own breath syncing unconsciously with the faint rhythm of Eveque’s shallow inhalations. “You’re the doctors,” he mumbled.

“I’ll gather my Hatch,” Seer said quietly. “We’ll cover the spiritual side of things.”

Spook’s legs nearly gave out with relief at hearing that. He’d half worried Seer’s faith had been crushed beyond repair. “I’m not the best at that kind of thing but if you need a wayward boy to teach, I’m ready.”

Seer covered Spook’s hand on his shoulder. “Call me later about it.”

****

Sinrik halted outside the transparent wall of the holding cell, hands loosely clasped behind his back. Through the glass, he observed the tense figure seated on the cot, half-cloaked in shadow.

He stared at her for many seconds, allowing himself to collect the usual data when her gaze suddenly lifted and turned to his. “Step forward,” he commanded quietly, his voice carrying clearly through the intercom.

Without hesitation, she rose and came toward the light with an odd eagerness that put him on high alert. Everything about her presence resembled a shifting current, pulling him somewhere he didn’t trust. His gaze moved over her practical attire. Winter boots, cargo pants and… pregnant.

God that… fucking idiot .

He snapped his gaze up. “Who are you?” he demanded, cutting his careful interrogation plans.

“Beth,” she hurried, meeting his gaze without flinching while the waver in her calm voice spoke of a hidden strain.

“Your full name,” he ordered.

“Beth Sweetling.”

He notated the falter. “You’re with child.”

She nodded with a soft, “Yes.”

He studied the subtle calculation and awareness in her expression, searching for intent. Malicious or neurotic? “You requested entrance,” he added, measured. “This facility doesn’t accommodate… requests. Any requests.”

“I-I came because I was supposed to,” she said, her voice steady as she crossed her arms over her swollen belly. She lifted her chin a little, inspecting him. “I heard your speech. The one about… the things you did and intend to do—the world you want to build.”

He calculated his reaction as he continued to dig for motive. “And what did you think of it?”

Her gaze softened a little, still guarded. “I like to think… or hope… that maybe you mean well.”

He resisted a dry smirk. “Do you,” he said, back to wanting a thorough dissection as she gave her genuine nod. “And why were you supposed to come here? This is not a Chaos Point.”

Her eyes changed into a sea of uncertainty, liquifying the moss and mercury colors. “I don’t know yet,” she confessed quietly, lowering her head.

That revelation landed with surprising weight, demanding immediate answers. His Med Lab One could provide some of that, he realized. Whether she was neurotic or infiltrating, he’d learn it there.

He probed a little more. “And who decided this… mandatory meeting?”

She raised her eyes again, contemplating, not the answer, but possibly how he’d receive it. “My… son.”

He didn’t shift his gaze as his mind processed the odd answer and their implications. And why did she direct compassion and sympathy at him. “Your son,” he echoed, the neurotic diagnosis theory growing. “And what does he hope to achieve?”

She broke eye contact, and he didn’t miss the literal power shift that happened in his blood. “I’m still trying to understand that,” she admitted, more to herself before returning her gaze to him. This time the connection was instant, magnetized. Oddly necessary.

“I’m afraid your presence here has rendered you… problematic.”

He watched the unchecked stream of data she openly provided him, feeding his curiosity about her. “I’m sorry you see it that way,” she said with flawless sincerity. “I didn’t plan to come here. And I don’t intend to stay.”

The honest simplicity of her answer struck him as irritatingly unusual. He took a step closer to the glass, narrowing his gaze as he studied her. “You speak as though your will has power here. This is not a place you simply leave.”

Her gaze plugged back into his, hard and unflinching even as she turned contemplative. “Chaos isn’t the only force at work here.”

Her statement surprised him, piercing through his controlled exterior. Chaos. She spoke it as if she understood things he only shared with the shadows of silence. His attention sharpened on her at this intriguing hint of something other than neurosis. “And what force might rival chaos?”

She paused over his question before a flicker lit up the gray in her eyes. “Love,” she said, as if she’d just been informed. “That’s why I’m here,” she mumbled, back to talking to herself while the gears in his mind grinded to a halt at that disappointing answer.

“Love,” he repeated, hyper aware that his utter disdain for the word lacked its usual potency. He angled his head at her, realizing that she wasn’t the only captive in the conversation. “What sort of love are you referring to, Miss Sweetling,” he murmured, feeling close to a final determination about her.

“All love,” she informed, her soft urgency drawing him a few more inches closer to the barrier.

“A mother’s love? A friend’s love? A lover?”

The sudden brick wall in her gaze almost thrilled him. “The answer is the same,” she said, struggling to hide her flustered composure.

“Do you have a lover, Beth? That you would die for?”

His blood raced in his veins as every pore in his body opened for her answer.

“It’s why I’m here.”

“You’re here to die for a man you love?” he asked, redirecting to infiltration now. “For what purpose? To educate me about love?”

Something snapped in her eyes, bringing her a step closer to the glass. “I’m here because your men were going to hurt my husband and family.”

Lie or delusion? “And your son requested you be taken here to save them.”

She openly struggled with her facts. “I-I’m imagining you’ll find my reasons… maybe… irrational,” she decided, forcefully. “I don’t know how, or how to explain it, but I know when he’s… what he’s…”

Her odd terms perplexed him. “Is this son alive? Are you communicating with him from the grave?”

“Yes, he’s alive,” she said, her anger an instant addiction.

“You understand I need to know your intentions. Are you malevolent? Neurotic? It matters.”

Her offense returned. “I’m neither.”

“And your words should be gospel to me? How did you get into my soldier’s head and have him secure you like an item on a grocery list? Are you telepathic? An upgrade? Understand that I have the ability to learn the answer to both of those questions.”

“Or maybe I was simply able to communicate to him the critical weight of the matter and he made a judgment call. The right one.”

He was beyond astonished by her scolding. “It’s been a solid ten minutes, and still I don’t know if you’re ignorant, erotic or duplicitous.”

She took a whole step back, eyes narrowed. “You said you had the ability to learn your answers, well, then use them. But I can guarantee you there is nothing erotic in my intentions, I’m very happily married.”

“ Erotic ? I said neurotic. ”

She shot out a laugh. “No, you surely said erotic. ” She aimed her pointer fingers adamantly at her midsection, eyes now hot daggers on him. “This son is the one that thinks I should be here and yes I know how crazy I sound, and… maybe I am, but…” She grabbed her womb with both hands and gasped in pain, sending him bolting into the room.

“What’s happening,” he demanded, guiding her to the small bed and making her sit.

“I’m…” She gasped through many breaths, leaning back a little. “I’m…”

“Where are you hurting?” He pulled his phone from his pocket, watching her shake her head.

“Not hurting,” she whispered.

He cautiously lowered the phone, watching the agony on her face bleed away.

“I’m just… I think I'm hungry.”