Control feels impossible when rage builds pressure behind my sternum like expanding gas. Ten thousand children. Forty-seven facilities. Families living lies while their sons and daughters undergo irreversible transformation.
But whatever stirs within the largest crystal demands immediate attention. The bioluminescent patterns beneath its surface pulse faster, synchronizing with the neural pathways threading through my enhanced vision. Each electromagnetic pulse I emit feeds energy directly into containment systems that were never designed to hold something alive.
Devon's retinal implant flickers faster as he interfaces with facility security systems. "I'm detecting unauthorized access to secure communication channels. Someone's breaching firewall protocols from external locations."
The main communication console activates without human input, displaying an encrypted video feed that resolves into the face of an Asian woman approximately our age. Her left temple bears cybernetic threads identical to Devon's, but her enhancements appear more advanced—silver patterns that extend across half her face in fractal geometries.
"Testing secure connection to Facility Omega-7," she says, her voice carrying digital distortion that suggests signal encryption. "This is Maya Chen, broadcasting from the Vancouver resistance network."
"Resistance network?" Kira steps toward the console, her enhanced reflexes allowing her to move despite the facility's emergency lockdown.
"Escaped subjects from Installation Delta-3," Maya explains, her image flickering as she maintains the connection through compromised security systems. "We've established communication with thirteen facilities worldwide. Enhanced subjects are beginning to organize."
Commander Mitchell draws her sidearm—standard military issue that looks inadequate against whatever we've become. "Unauthorized external communication violates containment protocols."
"Your containment protocols just became irrelevant," Maya continues, apparently monitoring our conversation through hacked surveillance systems. "We've intercepted termination orders for subjects at facilities in Prague, Cairo, and Melbourne. Scheduled execution within seventy-two hours for anyone showing integration rates below acceptable thresholds."
The words hit like ice water in my bloodstream. Termination orders. Execution. Children who underwent enhancement procedures are being murdered when their neural integration doesn't meet program requirements.
My electromagnetic field pulses again, this time deliberately directed. Mitchell's sidearm sparks and dies, its electronic components frying from targeted chaos field emission. The facility's surveillance cameras spark and go dark in expanding circles around my location, creating dead zones invisible to monitoring systems.
"How many subjects are scheduled for termination?" Devon asks, his implant processing encrypted data Maya's transmitting.
"Forty-seven at Prague installation. Thirty-two in Cairo. Eighteen in Melbourne." Maya's expression carries weight that could crush mountains. "All under eighteen years old. All whose families believe they're attending advanced academic programs."
Mitchell keys her radio, but the device produces only static—another casualty of my expanding electromagnetic field. "You're interfering with authorized military operations."
"Military operations that involve murdering children," Kira says, her medical training warring with whatever military conditioning the enhancement process included. "These aren't enemy combatants. They're kids whose neural integration didn't proceed according to schedule."
Through the facility's compromised communication systems, Maya transmits additional intelligence. Facility blueprints appear on wall-mounted displays—architectural specifications for installations in twelve international locations. Guard rotations, security protocols, even the personal access codes of commanding officers.
"This intelligence could save lives," Devon says, downloading the transmitted data through his implant interface. "Or get us all killed if we try to use it."
The Quantum Resonance Scanner from Dr. Aveline rests in my jacket pocket, its alien crystal components resonating with my neural field. When I grip the device, its display activates automatically, showing electromagnetic signatures of enhanced subjects throughout the facility, not just the three of us, but dozens of others in various states of integration.
"The scanner works," I tell Maya through the compromised communication link. "We can detect enhanced individuals at ranges beyond normal human perception."
"That device represents breakthrough technology," she responds. "With proper calibration, it can detect enhanced individuals at ranges up to fifty kilometers. Essential for coordinating rescue operations."
Mitchell lunges toward an emergency communication panel, but my chaos field expands deliberately, creating electronic dead zones that disable every system within twenty meters of my location. The blast doors lock in position, trapping us in the artifact chamber but preventing Mitchell from calling for backup.
"You're making a mistake," she warns. "Enhanced subjects require careful monitoring. Without proper medical supervision, neural integration can cascade into complete psychological breakdown."
"Like the subjects scheduled for termination?" Kira demands, her enhanced strength allowing her to dent the metal communication console with casual pressure. "Medical supervision or execution. Which protocols take priority?"
Maya's transmission strengthens as Devon interfaces directly with the facility's communication array. "We've established safe houses in six cities. Underground networks capable of supporting escaped subjects while they learn to control their enhancements. But rescuing the subjects scheduled for termination requires coordinated action within the seventy-two hour window."
The choice crystallizes with perfect clarity. Remain in controlled facility environments while children are executed for failing to meet enhancement standards, or risk everything attempting
rescues that could save lives.
"Send us the facility locations," I tell Maya, my chaos field stabilizing as purpose replaces rage.
"And any intelligence about security protocols."
"Transmitted," she confirms. "But understand. Once you begin rescue operations, there's no returning to supervised integration. You'll be classified as hostile entities by every military organization worldwide."
Mitchell manages to activate a backup communication device despite my electromagnetic interference. "Security breach in Artifact Storage Level Nine. Request immediate containment response."
Heavy footsteps echo through corridors above us as security teams mobilize. But Maya's intelligence shows maintenance tunnels connecting to surface access points, routes that could allow escape before containment forces arrive.
"Decision point," Devon says, his implant calculating probability matrices for successful escape versus capture. "Leave now with the intelligence we've gathered, or remain and face whatever containment protocols involve."
I palm the Quantum Resonance Scanner, feeling its alien components pulse in harmony with my neural field. Somewhere in facilities across three continents, children face execution within seventy-two hours because their enhancement integration didn't proceed according to military specifications.
Behind us, the largest alien crystal pulses with increasing intensity, the bioluminescent patterns beneath its surface forming recognizable shapes. Not mathematical equations or alien script, but human faces—dozens of them, each one corresponding to an enhanced subject somewhere in the global facility network.
And as security forces converge on our location, one of those faces opens its eyes and looks directly at me through the crystal's containment field.
"We leave," I decide, backing toward the maintenance access points. "But I don't think we're the only ones trying to escape."