Chapter 20
Far beneath the Earth’s surface, in the hidden mountain stronghold Kaelyn once called a second home, a storm was gathering.
Sebastian stood before the mission board, the holographic map pulsing in shades of blue and red as the satellite locked onto the signal Kaelyn had triggered. His jaw was clenched, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the console.
“She’s on one of Tamar’s orbital platforms,” he said, voice low but steady. “A decommissioned weapons station. That’s where they’ve been running Anchor.”
“Sounds like a suicide nest,” M-2 muttered from behind him, arms folded.
“We’re going anyway,” Sebastian said without hesitation. “She’s in there alone.”
“We all knew what she was walking into,” M-2 replied. “Kaelyn doesn’t need rescue—she needs backup. There’s a difference.”
A low chuckle came from the side of the room. It was Rafe, one of the last awakened assets they’d pulled from Tamar’s cryo vaults. “Looks like we’re going to space, then. Better start stretching.”
In the corner, Zara—formerly known as Z-3—spoke up, her tone sharp. “Getting up there is the easy part. Making it back alive is the real trick.”
But Sebastian had already made up his mind. “We launch in six hours. Get your gear ready. We’re bringing her home.”
Meanwhile, aboard the orbital platform, Kaelyn lay motionless in the med-bay. Her head throbbed, ribs aching from the blow Anchor had delivered. But her mind was crystal clear.
They’d taken her blood. Samples. Scans. Data. All of it had confirmed what she suspected: Anchor wasn’t just based on the same formula that created her. Anchor was an evolution—one that stripped away everything human. Emotions, empathy, memory. Anchor had all the strengths of the original program and none of the restraints.
Kaelyn was the last proof that the human soul could survive the modification. Anchor was proof that it didn’t need to.
And Tamar preferred it that way.
She sat up slowly, ignoring the sting of pain, and looked at the guard stationed by the door. He was dozing slightly, shoulders relaxed.
Amateurs.
Kaelyn slipped a wire from her sleeve—the one she’d palmed from the earlier fight. In seconds, she was out of the bed, around the guard’s neck, and dragging him to the floor before he could cry out.
She snatched his access card and headed into the corridor.
Red emergency lights pulsed overhead. Somewhere down the hall, sirens began to wail.
They knew she was gone.
Good.
She ran. Past labs, past chambers filled with floating stasis tanks—each one containing a sleeping body. Her stomach twisted as she recognized some of the faces. Friends. Allies. Test subjects who never woke up.
Tamar had turned them into inventory.
She didn’t stop until she reached the central command chamber. Inside, the glass wall overlooked the entire platform: solar wings extended beyond the hull, and on the far end, she could see the loading bay—her only chance at escape.
The console blinked to life at her touch.
A single command line appeared on screen: Anchor: Remote Override Protocol — Locked.
Kaelyn gritted her teeth.
Behind her, heavy footsteps sounded.
Anchor entered the chamber, silver eyes gleaming in the low light. No guards. No hesitation. Just her and Kaelyn.
“You should not be here,” Anchor said.
Kaelyn raised her fists. “Then make me leave.”
Anchor didn’t charge this time. She studied Kaelyn’s stance, her breath, even the twitch of her muscles. Then she stepped forward with machine precision.
Kaelyn barely deflected the first strike. The second clipped her shoulder. The third sent her sliding back.
But Kaelyn had learned. Anchor was fast—but not invincible. She had patterns. She adapted—but she didn’t think.
Kaelyn used that.
She feinted left, then dropped low, rolling beneath Anchor’s strike and coming up behind her. She slammed a shock baton into the side of her neck.
Anchor froze.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
Kaelyn shoved her toward the control panel, smashing the override button. Sparks flew, and Anchor screamed—a high-pitched, digital scream that didn’t sound human.
Kaelyn gasped, staggering back, eyes wide. For a split second, Anchor looked confused.
Then… scared.
The override had activated her suppressed core memory file—the fragment of Kaelyn’s DNA that had been cloned to start the Anchor project.
For the first time, Anchor blinked.
“Who… am I?” she whispered.
Kaelyn stepped forward slowly. “You were made from me. From a real person. You don’t have to follow their orders.”
But before Anchor could respond, a siren blared. The platform shook violently.
From below, a voice crackled over the speaker.
“Unauthorized override detected. Initiating self-destruct. T-minus ten minutes.”
Kaelyn’s stomach dropped.
Anchor looked at her, frozen between orders and doubt.
“Come with me,” Kaelyn said.
Anchor hesitated. “I don’t know how.”
Kaelyn grabbed her wrist. “I’ll show you.”
Together, they ran.
Down the corridors, toward the emergency bay.
Outside the station, a sleek black craft detached from stealth mode, docking with the platform as explosions rippled beneath its hull.
Sebastian was already waiting by the hatch, flanked by M-2 and Rafe.
When Kaelyn burst through the corridor, dragging Anchor behind her, Sebastian’s eyes widened—but he didn’t hesitate.
“Get in, now!”
They barely made it inside when the platform erupted in fire behind them.
As they sped away, Kaelyn collapsed into a seat, breath ragged, limbs shaking.
Anchor sat beside her, silent.
Sebastian knelt in front of Kaelyn. “Are you alright?”
She gave a weak nod. “I got the data. And I brought her.”
He looked past her at Anchor. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Kaelyn’s voice was quiet, but sure.
“She’s not just a weapon. She’s a victim too.”
The ship soared into the dark, leaving the flames behind.