Back in the relative safety of his soundproofed studio, Kaelen felt anything but safe. The shred of polymer lay on an isolation plate, its data silent now, but its echo still reverberating in his skull. Run.
Rostova paced, her energy a contained storm. "A person? You're saying OmniCorp is turning people into... those things?"
"It's the only thing that fits the audio evidence," Kaelen said, connecting the polymer to his console. "The vocal print in the roar has a human linguistic foundation, twisted and distorted. This isn't a beast that learned to mimic. It's a human mind trapped inside a... a new biology."
He began to run a deep decrypt sequence, peeling back the layers of the raw audio imprint. The snarls and growls were a shield, a top layer of defensive static. Beneath it, he found the second frequency he'd sensed—the ghost in the machine.
"It's here," he murmured, isolating the signal. He amplified it, cleaning it with painstaking care. The result was a low, pained whisper, looping on itself. "…protocol seven… containment breach… can't control the shift… moon isn't the trigger… it's the frequency… the goddamn frequency…"
"Moon? Frequency? What is he talking about?" Rostova asked, leaning in.
"It's not the lunar cycle," Kaelen realized with dawning horror. He pulled up the city's public utility logs, cross-referencing them with the dates of the attacks. "Look. Each attack coincides with a city-wide test of the new OmniCorp 'Urban Pacification Grid'—a low-frequency network they claim reduces civil unrest."
He superimposed the grid's test frequency over the creature's resonant signature. They were harmonic mirrors.
"They're not just creating these things, Anya. They're controlling them. Or trying to. The grid's frequency must be a trigger, forcing the transformation. This one," he pointed to the whispering data-ghost, "must have broken free of their control."
The ghost's voice crackled again, clearer now. "…find the source… the alpha frequency… in the static… it's the only way to break the chain…"
Then, the voice changed, filling with a desperate, personal urgency. "Lena… tell Lena I'm sorry… tell her I didn't run…"
The signal dissolved into a final, silent hiss.
Rostova had gone very still. "Lena," she repeated, the name a breath. Her hand went to a dog tag tucked under her armor. "My brother's fiancée. His name was Jax. He was a security consultant for OmniCorp. He disappeared on a corporate retreat six months ago."
The case was no longer just about corruption or conspiracy. It was personal. The ghost in the code had a name, and he was connected to the woman standing beside him. Kaelen looked from Rostova's grief-stricken face to the silent polymer. They weren't just hunting a victim. They were hunting her brother.