Colt’s POV
I had not experienced such a rage in years. The previous time, I found myself standing over the wedding toast of my brother, seeing the whole thing had been a deception, that Krystal had been nothing but a puppet. But this? This was not so. This anger was not burning me to ashes.
It was honing me. Krystal hunched over the tunnel pipe, the flashing bluish light of her laptop over her white face. Trembling she made no sound. Focused. She had witnessed her own spirit-K-5. And now we have K-6. A child. Open-eyed brown, spread-eagled somewhere in some amoral room, surrounded by machines which creep into her like climbing plants. What sorts of monster do such things to a child?
And how does a man allow it to happen twice?
I looked at the chip in my fingers, the one the Masked Man
