Page 25 of The Mountain Man's Curvy Trick-or-Treat

When we part, she asks, “So, Sentinels. Watching humans like a cosmicTruman Show. But what about the killer robots, the Wildbloods, the rebellion?”

“The rebellion’s coming. You and I are part of it now.”

“Because we’re abominations … threats to purity?”

“No. Because we’re symbols of free will. Of what Sentinels can’t control.”

“You tried to wipe my memory last night. Why?”

“I thought the truth would break you. I didn’t realize I could guide you through it—or that our aligned frequencies make us traceable. I doubted a human-Sentinel bond could hold. Until it did.”

“And that thing in your neck?”

“My regulator. It kept me numb, obedient. It’s gone. You’re my regulator now.”

“So that isn’t a metaphor?”

“Not in the least.”

“What do we do now as rebels in a galactic chess game?”

I meet her gaze. “We regroup. Find allies. Bring the whole structure down.”

“Against your own kind?”

“Against anyone who tries to keep us apart.” I pause. “Never doubt how fiercely humans guard their secrets—your men in black.”

In the distance, I sense motion: constructs on patrol. Not mine.

“They’re coming,” I warn. “We have to move.”

We dress quickly, hearts pounding in sync. I call back my drones, scan Rook’s feed. “Multiple constructs awakening nearby.”

“What do we do?”

“Come.”

At the comm-cradle, my fingers blur through code—rerouting a dormant unit’s protocol, my first rebellion spreading. Lines of alien script rewrite themselves into defiance.

Eden hovers close, pulse quickened. Her rhythm becomes my metronome. I can’t fight the network, but I can misdirect it.

Her fingertips brush my cheek; the bond flares. I draw on her emotions to power the override. Love amplifies resonance. I should’ve known.

The constructs launch, streaks of light against the sunlit sky. While the world watches the Starborn Range, we disappear into its woods.

I take her hand, kiss her palm, breathe her vanilla-and-cinnamon scent, now mingled with Star-honey.

“Come. We’ll go to Mother Tree.”

Beneath its sheltering branches, the orbs glow pale and translucent—their harmonics masking us from detection. Not perfect, but enough.

“If they come, I can’t run,” I tell her. “But I won’t let them take you.”

She cups my face, thought to thought:I’m never leaving you again.

The resonance hums between us—steady, sure. Proof of control, not chaos.

In the distance, Rook and his kin shimmer, watching, waiting.