Page 46 of The Brotherhood

Quantum moved around him, methodical, expression unreadable. Handy tracked his movements with crisp, exact clarity. Before, he had always been half a second ahead, sensing Quantum’s intent through the haze of borrowed perception. But now? Now he wasn’t looking at Quantum through anyone else’s mind.

The world felt different. Not sharper—truer. Before, everything had been filtered through the collective. Colors too vivid, movements delayed or doubled. Sensations were either overwhelming or completely numb. This was balance.

The cold air on his bare skin felt exactly as it should. Not like static pressing in, not like an electric hum crawling across his nerves—just cold.

His fingers curled over the edge of the table, testing his grip. The sensation was immediate, direct. His muscles flexed beneath his skin, and when he breathed, his ribs expanded in time with his lungs.

He blinked once, slowly. It should have unsettled him.

Quantum reached for the cluster of wires connected to Handy’s body, adjusting the nodes at his temple. The cool pads adhered cleanly to his skin, and the sensation registered instantly.

“How’s it feel?” Quantum asked without looking at him.

Handy rolled his shoulders, testing them. The joints moved smooth, controlled. “Quiet,” Handy muttered.

Quantum nodded. “I imagine it would be.”

He checked the monitors again. The numbers flickered across the screens in precise, steady patterns. Handy caught the readouts at a glance. Everything was stable. Stronger than stable. Optimized.

Quantum adjusted the scanning parameters, isolating different parts of Handy’s nervous system. The machine clicked and whirred. Then he frowned.

Handy waited.

A few seconds later, Quantum tapped the screen with two fingers. “Something’s still syncing.”

Handy’s jaw flexed. “I can feel it,” he admitted.

Quantum exhaled through his nose. “Not unexpected. Your neurological pathways are rewiring at a deeper level than I anticipated. The imprinting process with Poppy—” He stopped himself, correcting the thought. “It didn’t just bond you to her. It stabilized you in ways I hadn’t accounted for.”

Handy didn’t react. Because he already knew. The moment he had woken up, he had felt the shift. Felt her. Not inside his mind—not in the way he had shared thoughts with his brothers before. But in his bones. In his blood. Like she was a part of him now in a way no one had ever been.

Quantum pulled up another diagnostic. “Containment grid is holding, but…” His fingers drummed the console. “Something’s different.”

Handy didn’t respond because he already felt that, too. The containment had always been chaotic. Restless. Always pressing at the seams. Now it was calm. Too calm. Not like it had been fixed. Like it was waiting.

Before Handy could consider that further, the door hissed open. He knew who it was before Harlow spoke.

“You need to hear this,” Harlow said to Handy.

Handy didn’t move. “I’m a little busy being a science project.”

He exhaled sharply. “Yeah, well—Augustine just lost the woman he loves.”

Everything snapped inside Handy as silence fell. Still. Cold. Weighted.

Augustine.

Handy hadn’t thought of him as separate before. None of them had. They had lived inside him. Before, memories had been collective. They had all known what had happened to him. Now, for the first time, Handy was remembering alone. And it hit him like a blow to the ribs.

DARPA hadn’t just broken Augustine. They had unmade him. Stripped him down to the raw pieces of faith and flesh, carved into him until nothing was left but survival. The scalpels. The drills. The prayers turned to screams.

Handy’s fingers twitched. He had been part of it. Had felt Augustine’s body as if it were his own, had understood the agony of it, the way pain had become a second skeleton.

They had all vowed to escape for him. To avenge him. And now, for the first time, Handy was feeling that vengeance alone. Not a shared instinct. Not a group decision. His. And it settled into him like it belonged there.

The monitors spiked.

Quantum looked up sharply. “Your adrenal response just jumped—” He scanned the readouts. Frowned. “This isn’t just stress. This is—”

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