Morrison arrived at the safe house control room as dawn's pale light filtered through the reinforced shutters. His eyes, trained for patterns and anomalies, scanned the multiple holographic feeds—two from the outer perimeter, one from the common area, and another from the hidden corridor where the other survivors slept. Arthur Blackthorne sat alone in the dimly lit common room, reviewing digital notes on the survivors' psychological profiles. To any external observer, he looked like a dedicated advocate, but Morrison sensed the distortions in the energy around him—subtle ripples of deception in the air.
He cleared his throat. "Sir, I'm picking up unusual stress indicators in the others. They're experiencing nightmares—flashback episodes tied to their conditioning."
Arthur looked up, expression patient. "Group therapy can dredge up traumatic memories. That's why we're meeting again today—to process those experiences and reinforce our unity."
Morrison knew better. He'd reviewed the biometric logs: Sarah's combustion Gift had flared involuntarily at night, setting off the fire-suppression failsafe; James's memory loops had trapped him in a recursive recall of the conditioning chamber; Lisa's emotional influence had turned on herself, flooding her with guilt and self-doubt. They were fracturing—just as Arthur had planned.
"Protocol recommends we offer individual counseling," Arthur continued, tapping a command that expanded the survivors' profiles on the central display. "But I think another group session is critical. We need to calibrate our strategies before the next hearing."
Morrison hesitated. "Sir, I have doubts about continuing group therapy. Their cohesion is breaking down."
Arthur's smile was gentle. "I understand your concern, Morrison. But Dr. Vasquez believed in collective healing. We're honoring her methods, using her protocols. If you have suggestions, I'm open."
Morrison swallowed hard. Any challenge would risk exposing Arthur's manipulations. "Perhaps we could adjust the format—limit the triggers, focus on factual debriefs rather than emotional recollection."
"Excellent idea," Arthur agreed, masking his relief. "We'll focus on strategic planning in today's session, less on emotional processing. That should mitigate the stress responses."
Morrison departed to alert the survivors. He passed James in the corridor; the man's eyes were distant, as if lost in a labyrinth of half-formed memories. "James," Morrison said quietly, "we'll meet in the common room in five."
James nodded, but his face was hollow, the memory manipulation Gift making him doubt every recollection. Morrison's heart ached for him, but he knew he couldn't intervene more overtly—Arthur's control was too strong.
Sarah arrived next. Her hands were trembling, sparks of flame dancing along her fingertips before she suppressed them. When she smiled at Morrison, it was brittle—fear and anger mingled beneath the surface. "I'll be there," she whispered.
Lisa followed, her emotional influence Gift causing Morrison to feel a wave of guilt wash over him. He forced himself to focus on the task. "Ready?" he asked.
She took a steadying breath. "Let's do this."
Five minutes later, Arthur stood at the head of the circle in the common room. The survivors settled into their seats, tension evident in every gesture. The holographic display showed the Corporate Territories hearing schedule and the next planned intelligence releases.
"Today," Arthur began, voice calm and reassuring, "we focus on strategy. We need to present our case with credibility and coherence. Our previous sessions were vital for emotional processing, but now it's time to show the world we're rational, organized, and reliable."
He addressed each survivor in turn. "Sarah, your testimony about combustion incidents is powerful—but we must avoid any uncontrollable flare-ups. We'll pre-record your statement so you're not on-site when it's played. That way, you still share your experience without risking a public incident."
Sarah nodded, relief and hurt warring in her expression. "I understand."
"James," Arthur continued, his gaze steady, "you're our evidentiary expert. Your memory manipulation abilities mean you remember more than anyone else, but in court, memory is suspect. Instead, you'll testify to documented evidence—show the records, highlight discrepancies in Nexus's internal logs. That makes your contribution unimpeachable."
James's eyes flickered with tentative hope. "I can do that."
"And Lisa," Arthur said, turning to her, "your emotional influence is subtle. You feel others' emotions deeply, but in testimony, that can be misread as manipulation. Instead, you'll coordinate our presentation format—draft the questions, sequence the testimony to highlight our unity. You'll be the producer behind the scenes."
Lisa's lips quivered, but she nodded. "I can help with that."
Arthur stepped back, folding his hands. "This approach will demonstrate our professionalism and credibility. We'll show the world we're not victims of trauma alone—we're survivors with a coherent, strategic narrative."
After the meeting, Morrison approached Arthur privately. "Sir, are you sure about this? They're fragile. This might push them over the edge."
Arthur studied him, eyes unreadable. "Sometimes healing requires strength through adversity. We're giving them purpose, Morrison. A mission transcends trauma."
Morrison wanted to believe it. He'd admired Arthur's composed leadership—but doubts gnawed at him. "And your part?"
Arthur's smile sharpened in the dim light. "I'll be testifying as well—about my illusions and conditioning. I'll present a controlled demonstration of my Gift, showing how I can control perceptions. That should reinforce our credibility as honest witnesses."
Morrison's breath caught. A live demonstration of Arthur's illusions in court—unthinkable. "Is that wise? It could backfire."
Arthur placed a hand on Morrison's shoulder, steadying. "Scaling risk is part of strategy. The public needs to see proof—static footage can be dismissed as fakery. A live demonstration introduces undeniable authenticity."
Morrison nodded, swallowed his misgivings. "Understood."
Arthur turned away, eyes distant. The survivors were counting on him—their last thread of hope. He would guide them through the hearings, manipulate perceptions in real time, and feed critical intelligence to Director Vance. The network would fracture under the strain, their unity undone by the very strategies designed to save them.
Because Arthur Blackthorne's ultimate purpose was not redemption. It was to destroy the resistance from within—and he would do so with the perfect weapon: weaponized compassion.
Outside the safe house, the city slumbered in its artificial twilight. Corporate drones hovered overhead, scanning for anomalies. The survivors slept—or at least tried to. Tonight, their dreams would be haunted by the faint echo of Arthur's voice, promising unity and strength while weaving threads of doubt and division.
Tomorrow, they would stand in court, believing in their cause. And tomorrow, their own minds would become the battlefield—and Arthur Blackthorne would emerge victorious, their psyches broken, their testimonies discredited, and their network shattered.
The fractures had begun.