But Kael had a secret.
He slipped into a maintenance corridor, following the Fragments’ instructions. The core was a pulsing sphere of light, humming with billions of half-processed memories. He pressed his palm against the access port. The virus—a tiny data-crystal embedded under his skin—began to upload. preyme
Pain exploded behind his eyes. The Hub’s AI noticed the intrusion. Alarms blared. Security drones detached from the ceiling like metal spiders. But Kael had a secret
Kael was twenty-four years, eleven months, and three days old. He pressed his palm against the access port
The Fragments’ plan was reckless: on the night before Kael’s twenty-fifth birthday, they’d hack the Hub’s mainframe and upload a virus—one that would make every preyme in the city invisible to the system. No birthday alerts. No scheduled extractions. They’d stay preyme forever.
“It means,” he said, “you get to keep your drawings.”