Jesse paused at the weapons locker, her fingers hovering over the biometric lock. "What's our deployment status?" she asked Walsh. "How many assets does command have in the field?"

There was a longer silence this time. In the background, Jesse heard Walsh speaking to someone else, voice muffled. When he returned, his tone had shifted—more guarded.

"That's the problem," Walsh said. "We don't have anyone in position yet. The facility went dark on all monitoring systems approximately seven minutes before the distress signal came through. Satellite imagery shows the building's exterior security grids are still active, but internal systems are offline. We're flying blind."

Jesse's enhanced mind processed the implications instantly. Seven minutes of dead air. That was either a catastrophic systems failure or a deliberate blackout. "And the civilian sectors nearby?"

"Being evacuated as we speak. Command's treating this as a potential hostile AI scenario, which means we're operating under containment protocols. No air support, no heavy ordinance. You go in quiet, you assess the threat, and you report back before we decide on escalation."

Jesse pulled open the weapons locker. Inside, her field kit waited in perfect order—modular armor plating designed to integrate with her synthetic components, weapons with neural-linked targeting systems, a portable EMP device rated for military-grade electronics. She began assembling her gear with methodical efficiency, each piece clicking into place with satisfying precision.

But Walsh's words echoed in her mind. *No one in position yet.* That meant she'd be entering a facility housing a dormant superweapon with no backup, no extraction plan, and no way to call for help if things went catastrophically wrong. The military loved sending her into situations like this. Cyborgs were expendable in ways human soldiers weren't. If she got killed, they could extract her neural data and start over. No messy investigations, no grieving families.

Unless, of course, the neural data was too corrupted to recover. Then she'd just be another ghost in the machine.

"How long until you need my initial report?" Jesse asked, sealing the last piece of armor across her shoulder.

"You have thirty minutes to reach the penthouse and establish visual confirmation of the threat. After that, command needs actionable intelligence."

Thirty minutes. Jesse checked the time on her internal chronometer. It was already ticking down.