We loaded Samuel Morrison's research into the helicopter. The container felt heavier than it should. Like it carried more than documents and equations. Like it carried the weight of extinction versus erasure.
Subject Seven was piloting when Torres's voice crackled through the radio. Not calm anymore. Panicked.
"Eva, abort return. Do not come back to command center. Do not—"
Static. Then different voice. Cold. Mechanical. Familiar.
"Hello, Eva Morrison." X-One. "Did you really think we would let you build weapon against us? Did you think Morrison's research would save humanity? Did you think any of this was outside our calculations?"
The helicopter lurched. Not from turbulence. From quantum interference. The controls flickered. Navigation systems crashed. We were falling.
Subject Seve
