The alert did not chime. It was a silent, razor-thin line of crimson that bisected the primary data stream on his console. An internal audit flag. A system deviation. Cyprian Hasek’s focus narrowed to the anomaly, the single point of impurity in a sea of clean, flowing data. His objective was simple: find the source of the corruption and excise it. The Redaction Hub was a sanctuary of pure logic, its air scrubbed of biological and memetic contaminants, smelling only of ozone and chilled electronics. This alert was a pathogen entering the sterile field.
He accessed the flagged packet. The data was raw, unadorned, and damning. It was a log of Dr. Oran Kennet’s network activity. Hasek’s fingers, pale and thin, moved over the cool black ceramic of his console, dissecting the betrayal. He saw the elegant, almost beautiful, architecture of the lie Kennet had fed to the Actuary AI. A phantom Class-Five memetic chimera, synthesized with a surgeon’s precision to divert Hasek’s own loyalist Scrubber team. A ghost conjured in the machine to create a tactical opening.
Then came the communication itself. A deep-level override, a secret door Hasek hadn’t known existed, used to reactivate the Hybrid’s supposedly defunct comm-link. The message was logged in plain text, a monument to its author’s foolishness. 'Third rail maintenance shaft. Go. Be a rebel.' Hasek felt a cold wave of contempt. It was not just treason. It was a philosophical contamination, a sentimental infection allowed to fester within the Division’s most sensitive ranks. Kennet, the specialist in Mnemonic Decoupling, had decoupled himself from reason.
He had the proof. Irrefutable. The price of Kennet’s mercy was the integrity of the entire system, and Hasek was the system’s immune response. He initiated a holographic call.
Commissioner Wardell Holland’s face materialized above the console, a bland, forgettable mask of procedural calm. His office was the same sterile grey as always.
— Director, — Holland’s synthesized voice was flat, stripped of all inflection.
— Commissioner, — Hasek began, his own voice a low, even baritone. He did not waste time with pleasantries. He pushed the data packet to Holland’s display. — An update on the situation regarding asset Croft. His handler has compromised the operation.
Holland’s eyes, a nondescript shade of grey, scanned the data. Hasek watched him, seeing not a man but a logic gate. Holland was the embodiment of the Division’s core weakness: a rigid adherence to protocol that mistook procedure for purpose. He was a firewall that could not comprehend a fire that started from within.
— Dr. Kennet has acted outside of established parameters, — Holland stated. It was a masterpiece of understatement.
— He has committed treason, — Hasek corrected, his voice cutting. — He has sabotaged a sanctioned black operation, aided a rogue asset, and exposed this Division to unacceptable risk. All to save a walking contamination and a known cyber-terrorist.
He let the words hang in the sterile air between them. His tactic was simple. He would use Holland’s own system, his own rigid belief in protocol, as the weapon. Kennet’s actions were not just a betrayal of Hasek; they were a flagrant violation of the rules Holland held absolute.
Holland was silent for a full ten seconds, his processor-like mind cross-referencing the data with the endless volumes of CI-Div regulations. The turn, when it came, was as quiet and absolute as a circuit closing.
— The evidence is conclusive, — Holland said. — Protocol 19.c is clear. Dr. Oran Kennet is declared a rogue agent. I am issuing a warrant for his immediate detention and cognitive audit.
A small victory. But Hasek’s objective was larger. He needed more than just Kennet’s head. He needed control.
— Commissioner, this is no longer a simple containment. We have a Hybrid, a cyber-terrorist, and now a high-level specialist operating as a coordinated rogue cell. Your protocol has failed. Your trust in Kennet has led to this.
The accusation was a precise, calculated strike. It was not emotional. It was a statement of fact designed to undermine Holland’s confidence in his own judgment.
Holland’s gaze did not waver, but Hasek could see the subtle recalibration behind his eyes. The system had been presented with data proving its own fallibility.
— What do you propose, Director?
— Full operational authority, — Hasek said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. — Override the local field commanders. Give me direct control of all assets in the sector. I will end this.
This was the true price of Kennet’s rebellion. Not his career, but Holland’s autonomy. Holland, the pragmatist, was being forced to cede power to Hasek, the purist. He had to choose between his belief in protocol and the messy reality of its failure. For a man like Holland, it was no choice at all.
— Authorization granted, — Holland said, his voice flat. — Handle it, Director.
The hologram of Holland vanished.
Hasek felt a cold, clean satisfaction. The system was correcting itself. He turned his full attention to the holographic map of the city, a glowing web of light and shadow. His fingers danced across the console, his commands flowing into the network. He bypassed the regional field commander, a man he considered too cautious, too much like Holland. He routed all command authority for Scrubber Teams Delta and Gamma directly to his own console. Force concentration increased by 100%. Two full teams, twenty operators, all converging on a single point.
He opened a channel to both team leaders, their call signs appearing on his display. Valerius and Cassian. Good soldiers. Men who understood the necessity of a sterile outcome.
— All units, converge on the third rail maintenance shaft, Sector Delta-Nine, — Hasek commanded. His voice was the sound of a blade being sharpened. — Your previous orders are rescinded.
— Acknowledged, Command, — Valerius’s voice crackled back. — What are the new rules of engagement?
Hasek looked at the tactical display. He saw the red icons of Croft and Weil, trapped in the shaft. He saw the new blue icon that had appeared beside them: Kennet. Three points of infection. Three anomalies. He recalled the image he had seen once from Croft’s file, the captured schematic of the Hybrid’s mind. The REM Diagram. A chaotic, symmetrical mess of competing neural pathways. It was the perfect symbol of the disease he was about to cure. It was a stain on the clean white canvas of reason.
— Sterilize all biologicals on sight, — Hasek said. The words were clean, precise, absolute. — No exceptions.
— Command, confirm, — Cassian’s voice was hesitant. — That includes a CI-Div specialist.
— Dr. Kennet is a contamination, — Hasek stated, his voice leaving no room for debate. — Erase the infection. All of it.
— Understood, — Valerius replied, his voice firm.
The channel closed. Hasek leaned back in his chair. The low, 400-hertz sine wave of the Redaction Hub hummed around him, a perfect, unchanging note. On the map, the blue icons of his Scrubber teams moved like antibodies, flowing toward the point of infection, ready to purify the system. He had won. He had taken a chaotic, sentimental mess and reduced it to a simple, elegant equation. An equation that would be solved with overwhelming, cleansing force.
The light from the holographic map cast a cool, blue glow on his face. The data streams on the walls flowed in silent, perfect order.
He had broken protocol to enforce purity. The cost was acceptable.
