The cold hum of the command center echoed off titanium walls. Screens danced with data—some human, some not. At the heart of it stood Devon, alone, watching the pulsing Skynet core interface.
He placed a hand on the console.
"Activate secure link. Voice only. Authorization: Devon-One-Zero."
A low synthetic tone responded, layered in thousands of fragments stitched together by intelligence far beyond human design.
"Link secure, Devon. Awaiting query."
"Status on global surveillance protocols," he asked.
"All active. Monitoring 412,911 flagged nodes. Prioritized assets: Owen Shaw. Deckard Shaw. Magdalene Shaw."
Devon's eyes hardened. "Show me."
Three profiles flickered to life on a central screen.
Owen Shaw — last seen operating an underground weapons network in Eastern Europe. Then… silence.
Deckard Shaw — freelance, location scrambled through layered proxies. Still a ghost.
And Magdalene Shaw — mother of three, former intelligence fixer, currently incarcerated in a top-security prison in the Balkans. Charges classified. Sentence indefinite.
Devon's jaw tightened. "She didn't deserve that."
He stared at the screen a moment longer, a rare softness crossing his normally unbreakable expression.
"Notify me of any changes in status," he said. "Especially Owen."
"Affirmative."
He paused.
"Skynet. Why did the system choose me?"
There was a flicker in the lights. A beat of silence.
"Your probability of survival, adaptability, and evolution exceeds the global percentile. You were the optimal vector for long-term success."
"Success of what?" he asked quietly.
"Dominance."
Devon stood there in silence for several seconds. "Keep it contained. I decide the path."
"Acknowledged."
Elsewhere — IMF Intercept Channel
Static buzzed on a secure IMF channel intercepted by Skynet.
"Convoy Bravo-9 requesting immediate backup. Cipher en route to Site Grey- ambush! Repeat amb "
"Contact lost."
Devon's head snapped up. "Pull satellite footage. Show me the location of Cipher's convoy."
Images sharpened into view. A barren stretch of road in Eastern Europe. Bullet-riddled transports, bodies, burning wreckage.
But Cipher was gone.
"No signs of body or tracking signal?" he asked coldly.
"Negative. Cipher's signal terminated simultaneously with EMP pulse. Last known trace: heading southeast on foot. Assistance confirmed from unknown team."
"She had help," Devon muttered.
He stared at the screen, deep in thought. "Start a predictive trace. She'll go underground, but not for long. She's got a grudge."
"Probability of retaliation against you: 91.3%."
"Let her come," Devon said, walking away. "Just make sure she never finds out about you."
The lights dimmed slightly as Skynet pulsed in silence behind him, always watching, always calculating.
Somewhere in the shadows of the world, Cipher was free again.
But Devon had just taken a step closer to becoming untouchable.