Threshold Protocol

Chapter 5 : Two Tracks, One Signal

04:00 | Infusion Wing, Langley Research Annex, VirginiaThursday, October 19, 2028 — Three Days After Phase I Completion

The white noise of progress did not sleep.

By 04:00, the hum from the end of the hall was no longer a metaphor in Vos's head. It was the sound of the Infusion Wing's climate control cycling back to full operational status. The ghost of Eva's voice had faded, erased by the low, steady thrum of machinery awaiting new commands. The emotional storm had passed. What remained was a cold, quiet, and absolute certainty.

Vos stood before the primary console, her reflection a pale mask in the dark glass. The hum of the machinery faded, replaced by the sharp focus of her own certainty. James was already there, his posture rigid. He didn't meet her eyes, his focus on the diagnostic screen too intense, too deliberate. He knew a line had been crossed last night. He just didn't know which one.

"Prep the second primer," Vos said. Her voice cut through the hum, devoid of preamble.

James flinched. Just a twitch of the shoulder. "Doctor, the NBOA hold—"

"The hold was lifted at 08:15 yesterday. The system is slow to update. We are not."

He nodded, turning back to the console. His fingers danced over the holographic interface. Fast. Efficient. But she saw the hesitation—a half-second pause before he keyed in the authorization. A silent question he didn't dare ask.

"Calibrate the micro-dose," Vos continued, her eyes fixed on the vitals for Subject A. "Zero-point-three nanograms per liter. And sync the injector arm."

The machinery whirred in response. A sleek, stainless-steel arm descended over Table One, its tip glowing with a faint blue light. The air grew colder.

"Initiate," Vos commanded.

James hit enter.

The injector arm hissed, delivering its payload in a single, silent pulse. For a moment, nothing happened. The vitals remained flat. The neural map stayed quiet. James let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

Then, a single green line on the EEG display spiked. It didn't tremble or drift. It ascended in a smooth, impossibly steep curve, plateauing at a level the simulations had marked as a catastrophic system failure—a critical overload that should have meant biological collapse. But there was no cascade. No biological alarm. There was only a terrifying, elegant, and perfect signal.

Vos leaned closer, her breath fogging the glass. Her lie had not just been believed; it had been vindicated by the very science she had corrupted.

11:30 | Sentinel Dynamics Training Cell, Langley (Continuous)

A hard cut. A different room.

This one was not a lab. It was a cage. Reinforced concrete walls. No windows. A single figure, broad-shouldered and strapped into a gimbal, grunted as electrical current coursed through the restraints. This was Subject Gamma. Military cohort.

On a holo-display in an adjacent observation room, Colonel Marcus Reeve watched, his expression impassive.

"Push him to the threshold," Reeve's voice was a low rumble. "We need failure points, not success stories."

The technician beside him nodded, increasing the voltage. Subject Gamma roared, muscles straining against his bonds. His biometric readout was a chaotic scrawl of jagged red lines. Pain. Damage. Recovery. The ugly, brutal calculus of battlefield readiness.

Reeve grunted, satisfied. "That's the data we need."

16:00 | Main Lab, Langley (Continuous)

Later, the main lab was quiet again. James approached Vos, his datapad held out like a shield. His face was pale.

"Doctor," he began, his voice barely above a whisper. "The readings from Subject A... they're not just anomalous, they're rewriting her predictive biological markers. The system is trying to flag it."

Vos didn't look up from her console, where two tracks pulsed side-by-side—one elegant, one brutal. On the left, Subject A's impossible curve. On the right, Subject Gamma's violent spikes. But only one signal mattered.

"It's signal noise," she said flatly. "Calibrate the sensors again."

"I did. Twice." His voice cracked. "This is real."

Vos finally turned, her gaze pinning him to the spot. Her voice was low, cold, and absolute. "Then you will create a new baseline. And you will log the previous data as a sensor malfunction. Understood?"

James swallowed. He looked from her unyielding face to the glowing screen, at the two futures she was building simultaneously. He gave a single, sharp nod. The question was finally answered. With the weight of his keystroke, he sealed the lie, no longer just an assistant, but a conspirator.