Finally, Zain brought a sleek, menacing neural-interface headset. "This will sync you with the behavioral AI. It learns from Sterling's recorded data—meetings, interviews, private logs we have acquired. It will suggest responses, mannerisms, and knowledge in real time. Think of it as a co-pilot for your…role."
The headset clamped in place. A cold jolt hit Reid, then a flood of information—stock symbols, technical jargon, names, and faces—poured into his consciousness, overlaid with a calm, synthesized masculine voice whispering potential responses in his inner ear, Max's voice merging with his own thoughts. It was intensely disorienting, like sharing his skull with someone else.
West summoned Reid over to the main console. Bricks's shadow loomed over him.
"Observe," West instructed, setting up holographic images—Max Sterling in a boardroom, his eyes cutting through evasion like a laser. "Your target state: ruthless efficiency, directed anger, charisma used as a weapon."
He froze on a close-up—Max's eyes boring into the camera lens with unnerving intensity.
"The eyes, Brecken. Learn the eyes. They are the windows to a soul that has no patience for weakness."
Reid glimpsed his reflection on a darkened screen. He jerked back. The biomods were taking effect. His jaw was more angular, the slope of his shoulders subtly altered. The eyes… Zain had done something to the eyes. They had a colder, harder glint. It was Max's reflection looking back, overlaid on his own desperation. The very magnitude of the deception felt like it would choke him.
Ethical considerations were no longer relevant. All that mattered now were survival and vengeance.
In a small attached bathroom, during a temporary break, dousing his changed face with cold water, Reid discovered a piece of paper stuck beneath the soap dispenser. Zain's frantic, fear-stricken handwriting:
Sterling hasn't disappeared. Contained. They are lying. Don't trust anyone. ESP Alessandra.
Icy panic pierced through him. Contained? Reid had no time to absorb the implications before the door hissed open. Bricks stood in the doorway—his face blank, and eyes blazing like chips of granite.
"Time's up, buddy. West wants you… now." His voice was a low rumble, leaving no room for hesitation.
With a heart rattling against ribs that seemed to belong to someone else, Reid trailed Bricks to the central room. West stood in front of a vast bank of screens now showing an intricate holographic conferencing system. Names Reid knew from technology news appeared around the virtual table—Sterling Dynamics board members.
"Showtime, Mr. Brecken," West said, his voice flat. He pressed a control. The holographic projection strengthened, bathing Reid in its icy glow. Seven life-sized images steadied around him. Six of them wore the usual faces of most executives, projecting skepticism and tension. The seventh, sitting across from Reid's projected position, made his heart skip beats.
Alessandra Sterling.
She was younger than he had anticipated, early 30s, stunningly gorgeous in a manner that was both fierce and graceful. Her dark hair framed a face of perfect, composed angles, but her eyes… Her eyes were the surprise. They weren't red-rimmed with sorrow, nor murky with anxiety. They were sharp, and piercingly observant, scrutinizing the projected image of "Max" with the intensity of a diamond cutter. Her carriage was flawless, her hands folded modestly on the table, but he could sense some tension in her, a coiled energy that emitted even through the hologram. She wasn't acting the grieving wife. Rather, she was evaluating and analyzing everything.
The board leader, Charles Henderson, a hawk-like man with years of corporate battles etched into his scowl, leaned forward, his holographic projection appearing to invade Reid's personal space. "Max?" His tone was skeptical. "You seemed different… however, at the moment, we want clarifications on the Shanghai Synapse numbers. And a plausible explanation for the discrepancy in Sector 7."
Reid felt West's watchful gaze as a physical force. Bricks's hulking presence was a reminder of what failure would bring. He breathed in, making his borrowed backbone stiff, drawing on the icy impatience West had required. The AI whispered in his ear, supplying him with data streams, possible answers. He sensed the subtle tug of the biomodulators relaxing his face into Max's characteristic mask of irritable competence.
He parted his lips, the modulated voice flowing out—deeper, flatter than his own, Max's characteristic disdain dripping from every syllable. "The anomaly, Charles, is a deliberate smokescreen by our competitors. The actual figures…"
He hesitated. The AI feed in his neural implant lagged, faltering for a fraction of a second—creating a gap in the dataset, parameters left inadequate. Reid Panicked.
Alessandra's eyebrow rose—slightly—but in the stillness, it felt seismic. A hint of something crossed her face. Not confusion but discernment… the reason for the hesitation.
Reid pressed on, ditching the AI, going with his own instincts and the shreds of information he'd gleaned earlier. ".are in the encrypted sub-folder I tagged last week. Didn't you read it?" He met Alessandra's eyes, attempting to convey Max's confident certainty. Her face was expressionless, but her eyes did not leave his, analyzing his act.
Charles Henderson's face hardened. "We tried, Max, but the decryption key you sent us didn't work." He glanced at the others, visibly flustered.
"Not exactly. Perhaps it has expired. It's standard procedure…" Alessandra said.
Her voice sliced through the tension like shattering crystal—cool, musical, and perfectly controlled. "Yes, Max. We examined it."
She paused, her eyes locking onto Reid's projected gaze with unsettling accuracy. "But the decryption key you sent us appears to might have lapsed."
She inclined her head slightly; the gesture coming across less as a question and more as a dare. "Perhaps you can update our access… right now?"
Reid's blood turned to ice. The AI was utterly useless now. Decryption key expired? Refresh access? Nobody had mentioned this. West had provided no key. He stood in the holographic light, a cheap fake about to be exposed in front of the most powerful people in the tech world.
Alessandra Sterling watched him, her beautiful face a mask of polite expectation, her sharp, observant eyes seeing right through the biomodulators and the neural implants, seeing only the terrified, out-of-his-league imposter: Reid Brecken.
The silence stretched, thin and razor-sharp, cutting at what remained of Reid's worthless existence of defeat.