Marina collapsed at the four-hour mark.
Not stumbling. Not swaying. Full collapse. Her legs gave out and she went down hard on colonial stone that had survived two hundred years of Buenos Aires history. The sound echoed through the secondary facility like a gunshot.
Kasper was there first. Costa del Sol reflexes translated observation into movement before conscious thought kicked in. He caught her before her head hit the floor, felt how light she'd become. Her body had been consuming itself from the inside out as the conditioning failsafes burned through her neural architecture.
"Rui."
Not loud. Just urgent.
Rui crossed the chamber in seconds, bioluminescence flaring bright as his cyberlitch consciousness interfaced with Marina's failing systems automatically. Circuits pulsed faster. Analyzing. Calculating.
"Three hours," Rui said quietly. "Maybe four. Her neural architecture is cascading. The conditioning isn't just killing her--it's erasing her. Every memory of choosing to help us. Every moment of free will. It's burning it all out so she dies believing she never had a choice."
Marina's eyes opened. Blood in the whites. Capillaries rupturing from neural stress. Her hand found Kasper's arm, grip weak but desperate.
"Need to tell you." Her voice was mechanical. Flat. Like the conditioning was already reasserting control over her speech patterns. "About the guards. The six salvageable ones. There's something I didn't tell Onofre."
Kasper helped her sit up, leaned her against one of the colonial stone pillars. The facility's medical personnel were approaching with equipment but Marina waved them off weakly.
"No point. Can't fix cascade failure. Just let me finish."
Lydia appeared beside them, all seventeen experiential streams focused on Marina with desperate intensity. "What didn't you tell us?"
"The six guards." Marina's neural ports sparked. Bright. Painful. She flinched but kept talking. "They're not just fighting conditioning randomly. They're coordinated. Communicating. They have a network. Hidden frequency in their neural implants that al-Zawahiri doesn't know about."
She pulled out another data cylinder. Smaller than the others. This one looked homemade--soldered together from salvaged components. "Eighteen months ago. Guard Three, Natalia. She figured out how to create hidden communication channel in the neural architecture. Taught the others. They've been planning escape for over a year."
"Planning escape?" Kasper took the data cylinder. "If they can communicate, if they've been planning this, why haven't they run?"
"Because they're waiting." Marina's hand found her neural ports. Blood on her fingers when she pulled them away. "Waiting for the right moment. Waiting for external disruption. Waiting for someone like you."
She looked at Lydia. "Your friend Nat. She knew you'd survived Project Lazarus. Knew you'd escaped. She's been holding out hope that you'd come back. That you'd help them break free."
Lydia's seventeen streams all froze simultaneously. Processing. "She knew I was alive?"
"She knew." Marina's voice was getting weaker, the mechanical quality intensifying. "Charlie and Isabela too. They've been fighting conditioning for you. Staying human for you. Believing that if you escaped, they could too."
A tear ran down Lydia's cheek. Just one. But it was singular. Undistributed. Pure emotion cutting through all seventeen streams to reach something fundamental.
"The other three salvageable guards," Marina continued. "They joined the network six months ago. Guards Five, Eight, and Ten. They're fighting too. Different reasons. Different memories. But they're conscious. They're planning. They're waiting."
She handed the data cylinder to Kasper. "Hidden frequency. Communication protocols. Recognition codes that prove you're there to help and not just another ATA test. Use this and they'll know rescue is real."
"And if al-Zawahiri detected the network?" Kasper asked. "If he knows they're planning escape?"
"He suspects. That's why he's testing their loyalty. That's why he sent you that message." Marina's neural ports sparked again. Brighter. She gasped, pain cutting through the mechanical control. "He's giving them twenty-four hours to break. To try to escape. To prove they're salvageable or too far gone."
"He's using us." Rui's circuits pulsed faster. "He's using our rescue attempt as the final test. If they try to help us, they fail his loyalty test. If they fight us, they prove they're still his weapons."
"Yes." Marina's eyes were losing focus. The blood flow from her nose had increased--a steady stream now. "But if they help you and you succeed, they prove choice exists. They prove weapons can stop being weapons. They prove conditioning can be broken."
She looked at Lydia again. "Nat's been waiting eighteen months. Charlie and Isabela too. Don't let them wait anymore."
Her neural ports sparked one final time--bright enough that Kasper had to look away, bright enough that the geometric shadows on the colonial walls flickered and danced, bright enough that for just a second, Marina's consciousness burned through the conditioning with pure, undiluted will.
"I chose this," she said.
Her voice was hers again. Not mechanical. Not flat. Just human.
"I chose to help. I chose to die free rather than live as a weapon. Remember that when you extract them. Remember that choice is always possible. Even when it kills you."
Then her eyes closed. Her breathing slowed. The neural ports went dark.
Rui checked her pulse. Looked at Kasper. Shook his head.
The facility went quiet. Not silent--the hum of equipment, the murmur of distant conversations. But quiet in the way that mattered. Someone had just died proving that choice existed.
Kasper stood. The data cylinder felt heavy in his hand. Eighteen months of six guards fighting to stay human. Eighteen months of Nat holding out hope that Lydia would come back. Eighteen months of choosing agony over comfort, consciousness over peace.
"We have her body moved to somewhere appropriate," Kasper said quietly. "She deserves better than dying on a stone floor in a tunnel."
Medical personnel came forward. Professional. Respectful. They lifted Marina carefully and carried her toward one of the side chambers. Her blood left a trail on the colonial stone--a geometric pattern in red that looked like art deco gone wrong.
Lydia was shaking, all seventeen streams trying to process Marina's death and the revelation about her friends simultaneously. Her hand found her neural ports, touched them like she was confirming they were still there. Still functional. Still hers.
"She died for us." Not quite a question. Not quite a statement. "She chose to break conditioning knowing it would kill her. She chose to help knowing she'd never see if we succeeded."
"Yes." Rui's circuits pulsed steady. "That's what choice looks like. Sometimes it kills you. Sometimes it saves you. But it's always yours."
He looked at Kasper. "We need to talk. About tomorrow. About the interface. About what happens when I disable their conditioning systems."
"Later." Kasper headed toward one of the technical stations. "First I need to analyze this data. Figure out the hidden communication network. Make sure we can actually reach the six guards without triggering ATA's failsafes."
The facility had equipment for analyzing encrypted data--military-grade decryption hardware housed in brass casings with geometric reliefs. Old infrastructure meeting new technology in ways that made Buenos Aires unique.
The data cylinder slotted into the reader. Holographic displays flickered to life, showing network architecture, communication protocols, hidden frequencies embedded in neural implant carrier waves. Marina's intelligence was comprehensive. The kind of detail that came from being inside the system and paying attention to everything.
Kasper studied the protocols. Guard Three, Natalia, had been brilliant. She'd hidden the communication channel in harmonics that looked like neural noise--random fluctuations that ATA's monitoring systems dismissed as artifact. But arranged in specific patterns, those fluctuations became language. Became planning. Became eighteen months of six people fighting to remember they were human.
"Mr. de la Fuente."
Onofre's voice. Kasper turned to find the old man standing behind him, expression detached as always. But something in his eyes suggested he'd watched Marina die and felt the weight of it.
"Miss Marina's death is unfortunate," Onofre said. "But expected. We knew the conditioning would kill her. We accepted that cost."
"You accepted it." Kasper's voice had an edge. "She paid it."
"True." Onofre moved closer to the displays, studied the network architecture. "But she chose to pay it. That matters. In our business, how you die is often more important than when."
He pulled up additional data. "I've been monitoring al-Zawahiri's communications. He knows Marina gave us intelligence. He knows we're coming for the six guards. And twenty minutes ago, he sent a message to the cryogenic facility."
Onofre played the audio. Al-Zawahiri's voice came through clear. Calm. Clinical.
"Guards Three, Five, Seven, Eight, Ten, and Twelve. This is final loyalty assessment. External forces will attempt extraction at dawn. You have three options. Fight with them and prove you're compromised. Fight against them and prove you're loyal. Or do nothing and prove you're worthless. Choose wisely."
The message ended. Silence in the facility.
"He's forcing their choice," Kasper said. "Making them decide before we even arrive. If they help us, they're admitting they've been planning escape. If they fight us, they're killing their only chance at freedom. If they do nothing, he executes them for being useless."
"Correct." Onofre checked his chronometer. "Which means our timeline just compressed. They're making their choice right now. We need to deploy before al-Zawahiri executes them for choosing wrong."
"Deploy now?" Kasper looked at the tactical displays. "We have seventeen hours until dawn. Teams aren't ready. Equipment isn't distributed. Scenario simulations haven't been completed."
"Teams will adapt. Equipment is functional. And simulation won't prepare them for reality anyway." Onofre pulled up the four-team operational display. "We deploy in three hours. Hit all targets before al-Zawahiri executes the guards or evacuates his assets or does whatever else he's planning."
"Three hours." Kasper ran the calculations. Team One needed to breach Edificio Kavanagh. Team Two needed to extract seventeen children. Team Three needed to intercept the convoy. Team Four needed to infiltrate the cryogenic facility. All simultaneously. All with teams that had been expecting seventeen more hours to prepare.
"The mathematics are worse now."
"The mathematics were always impossible." Onofre deactivated the displays. "Now they're just more obviously impossible. Inform your team. We deploy at 0300 hours. Four teams. Four targets. Everything happens in three hours whether we're ready or not."
He left without waiting for response, disappeared into the colonial facility's tunnels like he always did. Leaving others to carry the weight of his decisions.
Kasper stood there for a moment. Holding Marina's data cylinder. Thinking about six guards who'd been fighting for eighteen months. About Lydia's friends who'd been waiting for her to come back. About Rui who was choosing to die. About seventeen children who'd be executed if Sean was thirty seconds too slow.
About impossible mathematics getting worse every hour.
He found Lydia in one of the side chambers, sitting on colonial stone, staring at the guard profiles on her handheld display. Nat and Charlie and Isabela. Friends from childhood who'd been turned into weapons and spent eighteen months fighting to remember they were human.
"We deploy in three hours," Kasper said. "Al-Zawahiri forced the timeline. Gave the guards an ultimatum. We need to extract them before he executes them for making the wrong choice."
Lydia looked up. All seventeen streams focused. "Three hours? We're not ready. I haven't finished analyzing the facility's security architecture. Haven't mapped all the contingency routes. Haven't..."
"We're never going to be ready." Kasper sat down beside her. The stone was cold--two hundred years old. It had survived revolutions and coups and military juntas. It would survive whatever happened in the next three hours too. "Marina's dead. Rui's dying. Your friends are making their choice right now. We either deploy or we accept that some people are lost beyond recovery."
"What if I'm wrong about them?" Lydia's voice cracked. "What if I identify Nat and Charlie and Isabela and you decide they're too far gone? What if I watch you kill them?"
"Then you watch me kill them." Kasper met her eyes. All seventeen streams. "And you hate me for it. And you live with that hate. And you stay functional anyway because that's what surviving means."
Lydia was quiet for a long moment. Processing. All seventeen streams running calculations that had nothing to do with tactics and everything to do with how much pain a distributed consciousness could endure before fragmenting completely.
"Okay," she said finally. "Three hours. We deploy. We extract who we can. Kill who we must."
She looked at the profiles again. "Marina said Nat's been waiting eighteen months for me. That she knew I escaped. That she's been fighting conditioning because she believed I'd come back."
Her hand found her neural ports. "I can't let her wait anymore."
Kasper left her there, moved through the facility toward where Team Four was preparing equipment. Rui was there, bioluminescence casting blue-green patterns across colonial stone. Valerian was checking weapons. García was running final diagnostics on her digital warfare systems, her hand finding her left temple every few minutes. Three taps. Always three.
"Three hours," Kasper announced. "We deploy early. Al-Zawahiri gave the guards an ultimatum. We need to extract them before he executes them."
"Three hours?" García's hand found her temple. Three taps. Fast. "We were told seventeen. We planned for seventeen. The scenario simulations weren't completed. The contingency protocols haven't been finalized. We're not..."
"We're deploying anyway." Kasper pulled up the tactical displays. "Lydia infiltrates the facility. Disables the remote execution failsafe. Signals when it's done. We breach. Rui interfaces with conditioning systems. Gives the six guards sixty seconds of free will. They choose to help or fight. We extract or eliminate accordingly."
He looked at each of them. "The plan hasn't changed. Just the timeline. We're doing in three hours what we thought we'd do in seventeen. Questions?"
"Yes." Rui's bioluminescence flickered. "When I interface with their conditioning systems. When I give them that sixty seconds of free will. I'll have approximately five minutes before my consciousness fragments completely. What do you want me to do with those five minutes?"
"Survive them." Kasper met his eyes--circuits glowing in a face that was partially synthetic. "Find a way to interface without dying. Find a way to give them free will and keep yours. Find a way to prove that sacrifice isn't the only option."
"I've run the calculations." Rui's voice was calm. Certain. "My consciousness can't handle the load. The math doesn't work."
"Then change the math." Kasper's hand found Rui's shoulder. "You're cyberlitch. You process reality differently than humans. Maybe there's a way to distribute the load. Share it across multiple systems. Something."
"Maybe." Rui didn't sound convinced. "But probably not."
He looked toward where Lydia was still sitting with the guard profiles. "She needs to believe people like us can be saved. That's worth dying for."
"She needs you alive more than she needs you dead for a principle." Kasper's grip tightened. "Find a way to survive the interface. That's an order."
"You can't order me not to die."
"Watch me."
Kasper let go, moved toward where Valerian was organizing extraction equipment. "Five minutes until full team briefing. Make sure everyone's ready."
He found a quiet corner away from the equipment preparation and tactical planning--just a small alcove in the colonial stone where brass light fixtures cast geometric shadows that looked almost peaceful.
Kasper pulled out Marina's data cylinder. The one with the hidden communication network. Eighteen months of six guards fighting to stay human. Eighteen months of Nat believing Lydia would come back.
He loaded the recognition codes. The phrases that would prove rescue was real and not just another ATA test. Memorized them. Because if he was going into that facility to decide who lived and who died, he needed to know exactly what to say to reach the six who were fighting.
Guard Three, Natalia. Recognition code: "Pink sneakers still fit."
Guard Seven, Carlos. Recognition code: "Prime numbers never lie."
Guard Twelve, Isabela. Recognition code: "Drawings on walls last forever."
Guards Five, Eight, and Ten. Different codes. Different memories. But all of them based on moments of choice. Moments when they'd done something human instead of something programmed.
Kasper committed them to memory, then sat there in the alcove thinking about Costa del Sol. About the seventeen months he'd spent killing enhanced operatives who'd been conditioned by the Association. About how many of them might have been salvageable if someone had known the right recognition codes. The right phrases. The right way to reach past conditioning to the human underneath.
About how many people he'd killed who might have been fighters instead of weapons.
His communicator buzzed. Team briefing in two minutes.
Kasper stood, headed toward the operations center. The facility was humming with preparation now--operatives checking equipment, specialists loading encrypted data, medical personnel preparing for casualties. All of it happening three times faster than planned because al-Zawahiri had forced their hand.
The briefing was brief. Onofre presented the compressed timeline, team assignments, deployment protocols, contingency plans that everyone knew wouldn't survive contact with reality. The operatives listened with professional attention. Asked tactical questions. Accepted impossible answers.
And then they dispersed to final preparations. Three hours until deployment. Three hours until they proved whether eighteen months of six people fighting to stay human had been worth it.
Two hours until deployment.
Kasper found Sean near Team Two's staging area. He was holding that photograph again--two children smiling, six and eight years old. Whatever Sean was fighting for, it lived in that image.
"Three hours," Kasper said. "How do you feel about eight minutes to extract seventeen children when you thought you'd have seventeen hours to prepare?"
Sean looked up. His face was tired. Haunted. Burns from Mirage City still visible on his arms, the skin pink and tight where regeneration hadn't quite finished. "I feel like we're all going to die and some of those children are going to die with us. But I also feel like doing nothing guarantees they all die. So I guess I feel like terrible mathematics is still better than certain tragedy."
He put the photograph away. "Marina died proving choice exists. Seems wrong to waste that by choosing to do nothing."
"Seems wrong to waste it by choosing to die trying, too."
"Maybe." Sean checked his equipment--demo charges, breaching explosives, extraction gear. "But at least dying trying proves you cared. Doing nothing just proves you were too scared to fail."
He looked at Kasper. "Team Four. The six salvageable guards. If you get there and Lydia's wrong about them. If they're too far gone. What are you going to do?"
"Kill them." No hesitation. Costa del Sol had taught him that sometimes mercy looked like a bullet. "Quickly. Efficiently. Before they suffer more than they already have."
"And if she's right? If they're saveable?"
"Then we save them. And prove that eighteen months of fighting wasn't wasted."
Sean nodded. "Good luck."
"You too."
Kasper moved through the facility, checking equipment, confirming communication protocols, making sure every team knew their window and their contingencies and what happened if they were thirty seconds too slow.
He found Lydia near the technical stations. Her seventeen streams were interfacing with something, processing data at speeds that made the displays flicker. She was mapping the cryogenic facility's network architecture in real-time--finding the paths she'd need to infiltrate, the systems she'd need to disable, the fifty meters of kill zone she'd need to cross without being detected.
"You ready?"
"No." Lydia's streams kept working. "But I'm going anyway. Nat's been waiting eighteen months. Charlie and Isabela too. I'm not making them wait anymore."
Her hand found the neural ports along her temple. "Marina died proving choice exists. Rui's dying proving it matters. I need to prove it's worth it. That saving six people who've been fighting for eighteen months means something."
"It means everything." Kasper watched her streams coordinate--distributed consciousness solving problems singular minds couldn't approach. "That's why we're doing this. Not for tactics. Not for missions. For six people who chose to keep fighting when surrender would have been easier."
Lydia's streams all focused on him simultaneously. "Promise me something."
"What?"
"If I'm wrong about them. If Nat and Charlie and Isabela are too far gone. If you have to kill them." Her voice cracked. "Promise me you'll make it quick. That they won't suffer. That the last thing they feel is someone trying to save them instead of someone using them."
"I promise." Kasper's hand found her shoulder. "Quick. Efficient. Merciful. They won't suffer."
"Thank you."
Lydia's streams went back to work--processing, planning, preparing for fifty meters of kill zone and sixty seconds that would decide whether eighteen months of fighting had been worth it.
Kasper left her there, moved toward where Rui was preparing the interface equipment. Specialized hardware that would let his cyberlitch consciousness connect with the facility's conditioning systems--the kind of equipment that came with warning labels about neural cascade and consciousness fragmentation and death.
"You really think I can survive the interface?" Rui asked without looking up. His circuits were pulsing faster now. Anxious pattern. "You really think there's a way to distribute the load and keep my consciousness intact?"
"I think you're brilliant. I think you're cyberlitch. I think you process reality in ways I can't understand." Kasper sat down beside him. "And I think if anyone can find a way to give six people free will without dying in the process, it's you."
"That's a lot of faith for someone you've known less than a week."
"I've seen you work. Seen you fight. Seen you make the choice to help Lydia even though it might kill you." Kasper looked at the interface equipment. "That's enough to earn faith."
Rui was quiet for a moment. Circuits pulsing. Processing.
"If I can't find a way to survive," he said finally. "If the interface burns out my consciousness. If I have five minutes before fragmentation. What do you want me to do?"
"Spend them with Lydia. Tell her what she means to you. Give her something to remember that isn't just tactical data and distributed processing."
"She'll hate me for dying."
"She'll hate you more for dying without saying goodbye." Kasper stood. "Find a way to survive. But if you can't, at least die saying something worth remembering."
He moved toward the exit.
One hour until deployment now.
One hour until they proved whether Marina's death had meant something. Whether Rui's sacrifice would matter. Whether eighteen months of six people fighting to stay human had been worth the agony.
García found him near the entrance to one of the deeper tunnels. Her hand was at her left temple, tapping once, like she'd caught herself halfway through the ritual and was trying to stop.
"I can't do this." Her institutional training was fracturing under stress. "Digital warfare support for Team Three. Mobile convoy interception. Seventeen-minute window. I've never done field operations. I've always been institutional. Analyst. Manager. Not someone who makes life-or-death calls in real-time."
"You'll adapt." Kasper's voice was calm. Certain. "Your institutional training gave you frameworks. Analysis protocols. Decision matrices. You'll use those under pressure."
"What if I can't? What if I freeze? What if Team Three fails because I wasn't good enough?" Her hand started to rise toward her temple again, then stopped. "What if people die because I'm not ready?"
"Then people die." Kasper met her eyes. "And you live with it. And you keep fighting anyway. Because the alternative is doing nothing and guaranteeing everyone dies."
He put his hand over hers before she could tap her temple again. "You're ready enough. Nobody's ever fully ready. You just do your best and hope it's sufficient."
García's hand trembled. But she nodded. "Okay. Digital warfare support. Seventeen-minute window. I'll do my best."
"That's all anyone can ask."
She left, moving toward where Team Three was staging. Valerian was there--aristocratic, calm, the kind of person who'd been raised to make life-or-death decisions without showing fear. He'd keep García functional. Keep her focused. Make sure her institutional training translated into field survival.
Kasper checked his chronometer. Ninety minutes until deployment.
He headed back toward Team Four's staging area, found all of them there. Rui with his interface equipment. Lydia with her facility maps. Valerian checking weapons. The specialist Onofre had assigned for heavy weapons support.
"Ninety minutes," Kasper said. "Last chance for questions. Concerns. Objections. Things you need to say before we deploy and might not get another chance."
Silence for a moment. Just the hum of equipment and the distant murmur of other teams preparing.
Then Rui spoke. "If I die during the interface. If I can't survive giving them free will. Tell Lydia it mattered. Tell her that choosing to help her was the most human thing I've ever done."
"Tell her yourself." Kasper's voice was firm. "You're going to survive."
"But if I don't..."
"Then I'll tell her." Kasper looked at each of them. "Anyone else? Last words? Final confessions? Things that need to be said before we deploy into situation where some of us might not come back?"
Lydia raised her hand slightly, like a child in school asking permission. "If I'm wrong about Nat and Charlie and Isabela. If they're too far gone. If you have to kill them." Her voice was small. Fragmented. "Don't let them see me watching. Don't let the last thing they see be my face while you pull the trigger."
"I won't." Kasper's promise was simple. Absolute. "If I have to kill them, you won't be there. You won't see it. You won't carry that memory."
"Thank you."
Valerian cleared his throat, aristocratic precision giving way to something more human. "I've been doing this for years. Obsidian Syndicate operations. High-risk infiltration. Mobile response under pressure. But I've never done it with teams I actually cared whether they survived. So if we all die in ninety minutes, I want you to know I'm glad I met you before the end."
"We're not all dying," Kasper said. But he smiled slightly. "But if we do, I'm glad I met you too."
His communicator buzzed. Message from Onofre. Final deployment protocols confirmed. All teams standing by. Equipment distributed. Medical personnel ready for casualties. Everything prepared as well as it could be with ninety minutes instead of seventeen hours.
"Time to move," Kasper said. "Team Four deploys to staging position. We wait for Lydia's signal that the failsafe is disabled. Then we breach. Rui interfaces. Guards get sixty seconds of free will. They choose. We extract or eliminate accordingly."
He looked at each of them. "Marina died proving choice exists. Rui's risking everything proving it matters. Lydia's fighting to stay conscious proving it's worth it. We're going in there to prove that eighteen months of six people fighting to stay human wasn't wasted effort."
They moved toward the exit, through colonial tunnels that had survived two hundred years, past brass fixtures that had illuminated smuggling operations and revolutionary planning and ninety-three years of Sindicato operations.
Toward whatever waited in the cryogenic facility. Six guards who'd been fighting for eighteen months. Six others who'd been lost beyond recovery. And one question that would be answered in the next three hours:
Could weapons choose to stop being weapons?
Or was choice just another illusion conditioning used to make people think they were free?
The team emerged into Buenos Aires night. The city hummed around them--traffic flowing, people sleeping, life continuing with oblivious momentum.
While underneath, four teams deployed toward impossible mathematics and brutal choices and the question of whether eighteen months of fighting had been worth the agony.
Kasper checked his chronometer. Sixty minutes until breach. Sixty minutes until they found out if Marina had died for something real or just another tragedy dressed up as hope.
His communicator buzzed. Message from an unknown sender. Military-grade encryption. Quantum processing. The kind that shouldn't get through their security but somehow did anyway.
He opened it.
Six words. Simple text.
They're ready. Are you?
No signature. But Kasper knew who'd sent it.
Natalia. Guard Three. Using the hidden communication network Marina had died to give them.
Eighteen months of fighting. Eighteen months of waiting. Eighteen months of believing Lydia would come back.
And now, in sixty minutes, they'd find out if that faith had been justified.
Kasper showed the message to his team.
Lydia's seventeen streams all focused on it simultaneously. Her hand went to her neural ports, touched them like she was confirming they were real. That this was real. That her friend was really reaching out after eighteen years of separation and eighteen months of fighting.
"She's ready," Lydia said. All seventeen streams converging on certainty. "Nat's ready. Charlie and Isabela too. The other three. They're all ready. They've been ready. They're just waiting for us."
"Then let's not make them wait anymore." Kasper headed toward the vehicle that would take them to the cryogenic facility. "Sixty minutes. Four teams. Four targets. Everything happens whether we're ready or not."
The team loaded into the vehicle--art deco design from 1935, brass fixtures and geometric patterns, engine that purred with retrofuturism efficiency. The kind of vehicle that looked like it belonged in a museum but functioned like it belonged in a military operation.
Buenos Aires streamed past the windows. Art deco architecture illuminated by brass streetlights. Geometric patterns on buildings that had survived decades of political upheaval. The city that hid tunnels and secrets and ninety-three years of Sindicato operations beneath its elegant surface.
Kasper checked his equipment. Sidearm. Directed energy rifle. Marina's data cylinder with recognition codes. Eighteen months of six people fighting to stay human compressed into phrases and memories and moments of choice.
"Pink sneakers still fit."
"Prime numbers never lie."
"Drawings on walls last forever."
Phrases that would either prove Marina had died for something real.
Or prove that hope was just another weapon al-Zawahiri used to make people suffer before he killed them.
The vehicle slowed. They'd reached the staging position--two blocks from the cryogenic facility. Close enough to deploy quickly. Far enough to avoid detection.
Forty-five minutes until breach.
Kasper's communicator buzzed again. This time it was Lydia's signature. She was already moving--infiltrating the facility's perimeter, crossing that fifty meters of kill zone, her distributed consciousness coordinating seventeen streams to process threat assessment and navigation and security bypass simultaneously.
"In position. Beginning failsafe disable. Sixty seconds."
Sixty seconds. Then they'd breach. Then Rui would interface. Then six guards would get their sixty seconds of free will. Then they'd choose.
And then they'd find out if eighteen months of fighting had been worth it.
Or if some people were weapons from the moment al-Zawahiri touched them and no amount of choice could change that fundamental truth.
Kasper watched the chronometer count down.
Sixty seconds.
Fifty.
Forty.
Then his communicator buzzed. Lydia's signature.
But the message wasn't what he expected.
Failsafe disabled. But there's a problem. Al-Zawahiri is here. In the facility. Right now. And he's not alone.