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The sight of it sent a jolt of dread through him.
“Everything you need is here,” Drake said, appearing beside him. “So… fix it.”
Around the base of Tectra-X were panels of glass through which intricate circuits and data screens pulsed with a faint, ominous blue light. There were readouts, monitors, and indicators, all feeding back information in real time. It was a system built for precision—though Pierce knew from bitter experience how easily that precision could fail, unleashing a level of chaos no one could control.
He grabbed a legal pad and pen from a nearby table and wrote:
I’ll need time.
“Within reason. And remember…” He tilted his head toward his guards. “We’re watching.”
And tools.
One guard stepped forward and set a toolbox on a nearby table. He opened it but didn’t move away. Instead, he stood guard over it with his arms crossed.
Drake nodded to the man. “If you need a tool, you ask Brock. He’ll give you what you need and take it back as soon as you’re done.”
So they didn’t trust him with a full array of tools.
He grumbled inwardly, then wrote:
This will go faster if Rhiannon is here to translate.
He hated that he couldn’t see her and had no idea what they were doing to her.
Drake scoffed. “I don’t think so. The pad and paper work just fine. Now get to work.”
Fuck.
Pierce wrote:
Screwdriver.
The meathead handed him one. As he turned to the device, he subtly surveyed his surroundings. Security cameras covered the angles, but there were blind spots. He noticed a vent near the floor—a possible escape route if he could access it. But the guards at the lab’s door and Drake’s hawk-eyed scrutiny were a problem.
He eyed the guards, then scribbled on the pad and held it up.
Why hire Halston?
Drake read the note and gave a genuine laugh, jerking his thumb over his shoulder at the mercenaries. “You think I’d trust Halston’s meatheads with this? Fuck, no. Rick Halston has one goal and one goal only: money. His guys’ loyalty can be bought for the right price. These are my men. True, some of them used to be with Halston, but they’ve found a higher calling. I’m offering them something much more powerful than money: salvation.”
Suddenly, a few missing puzzle pieces clicked into place. Pierce had wondered where the leaders of Hope’s Embrace had gotten their ideas about an earthquake wiping all but the so-called “embraced” from the earth. One of the survivors had claimed that the leaders had only specifically settled on the earthquake as the apocalyptic event in the last few years. Drake had manipulated Hope’s Embrace, feeding their apocalyptic delusions with the promise of Tectra-X.
You told Hope’s Embrace about Tectra-X.
Drake’s smile turned smug. “I may have planted a seed or two. It’s remarkable what people will believe when they’re desperate for meaning.”
Pierce’s gut churned.
You manipulated them. Used their beliefs to further your own agenda.
“Manipulation is such an ugly word. I prefer to think of it as a mutually beneficial arrangement.” Drake’s eyes gleamed with afanatic’s zeal. “They got their apocalypse, and I get the power to reshape the world as I see fit.”
Jesus. He’d been a fool to believe Tectra-X could be anything than what it was—a weapon of mass destruction. Its very existence was a threat, and now it was in the hands of a megalomaniac.
He had to find a way to stop this madness.
So, these soldiers are all from Hope’s Embrace?
