Page 86 of Reckless: Corruption

“They’re fine,” he insists, though the strain in his voice suggests he’s as worried as I am. “Jinx is enjoying himself a little too much, but they’re in control.”

The download completes with a soft chime that feels anticlimactic given the chaos unfolding elsewhere. “Got it,” I report, disconnecting my tablet and securing it in my pack. “Moving to extraction.”

“Wait,” Finn interrupts. “While you’re there—check the terminal for local files. Anything that wouldn’t be on the networked servers.”

I hesitate, torn between the need to reach Ryker and Jinx and the potential value of additional intel. Training wins out over emotion. With quick efficiency, I access the local drive, scanning for anything unusual.

A folder labeledImplementation Timelinecatches my eye. Inside, I find documents that make my blood run cold—detailed plans for mass beta correction centers, facilities designed to process thousands of betas daily through mandatory vaccination programs. The sterile language masks genocidal intent, bureaucratic euphemisms concealing a horror that steals my breath.

“They’re planning forced exposure,” I whisper, horror building as I scan the documents. “Government contracts, international distribution channels... this isn’t just about creating a virus. It’s about deploying it globally. This is like the Death Star plans, only worse.”

“Download everything,” Finn orders, professional calm masking the fear I know he must feel. As a beta himself, this is his nightmare made manifest—systematic extermination of his kind, dressed up as public health initiative.

“Finn,” I say softly, hearing the subtle shift in his breathing as he absorbs what this means for us, for our designation.

“I know,” he responds, voice tight but steady. “We’re going to stop this, Cay. Together. Just get that data out.”

I copy the files with hands that want to shake but can’t afford to. “This is bigger than we thought. Sterling’s not just testing anymore. He’s ready to implement.”

“Cayenne, you need to move,” Theo cuts in urgently. “Security is regrouping. Second team entering from the north entrance.”

“Where are Ryker and Jinx?” I demand, disconnecting from the terminal and shouldering my pack. The weight of the data feels both literal and figurative—thousands of lives contained in digital form.

“Moving to intercept the second team,” Theo reports. “Extraction route compromised. You need to take the maintenance corridor, east exit.”

I slip into the hallway, heart pounding in a rhythm that feels too fast, too hard. The facility’s emergency lighting has activated, casting alternating patches of shadow and sickly red illumination. I move through them like a ghost, each step silent despite the adrenaline urging me to run. My senses sharpen to painful acuity—the metallic tang of recycled air, the faint scent of gunpowder, the barely perceptible vibration of distant conflict.

“Left at the next junction,” Finn guides, his voice a lifeline in my ear. “Maintenance access panel in the floor, twenty meters ahead.”

I find the panel exactly where he described, the metal grate lifting with surprising ease to reveal a service tunnel below. The drop is about eight feet, manageable with the parkour training Jinx drilled into me during endless rooftop sessions. My body remembers the lessons even as my mind races ahead to where he might be now.

“I’m in the maintenance tunnel,” I report, landing in a crouch that sends only minor complaints through my still-recoveringbody. The air down here is thick with dust and neglect, heavy with the scent of rust and stagnant water. “Which way?”

“Follow it east, approximately sixty meters,” Finn instructs. “There should be a ladder leading to an emergency exit.”

The tunnel is cramped and musty, forcing me into a half-crouch as I navigate by the dim light of my tactical flashlight. Pipes and conduits line the walls, carrying the facility’s lifeblood—water, electricity, data. I move as quickly as silence allows, counting off distances in my head. Spider webs brush against my face, invisible strands catching in my eyelashes, adding to the claustrophobic press of darkness.

“Ryker, Jinx, status?” I request, anxiety building with each moment of silence.

“Engaging,” comes Ryker’s terse reply, followed by what sounds distinctly like someone being thrown into a wall. “Proceed to extraction. We’ll be right behind you.”

“Define right behind,” I press, reaching the ladder Finn described. Metal rungs, cold and slightly slick beneath my gloved hands.

Jinx’s laugh carries through the comm, wild and slightly unhinged. “After I finish this little dance. These guys are fun, Glitch. Good training.”

“Jinx, damn it?—”

“Go,” Ryker orders, alpha command vibrating through the single syllable. “That’s an order, Cayenne. Get the data out.”

Conflict tears through me—mission parameters versus pack instinct, tactical necessity versus the need to protect my alphas. The data in my pack could save thousands of betas, could give Mona what she needs to perfect her vaccine. But leaving them behind feels like running a system without proper backup, like abandoning critical hardware to potential failure.

“Thirty seconds,” I compromise, already scaling the ladder. “Then I’m coming back for you. With or without a plan.”

“Stubborn wildcat,” Ryker mutters, but I catch the approval beneath his frustration.

The emergency exit opens onto an empty loading dock, the night air a shock after the tunnel’s stale warmth. Rain has started falling, fine droplets that seem to hover in the security lights like a spectral curtain. I scan for threats, finding none immediate, then move to the extraction point where our secondary vehicle waits.

“I’m at the vehicle,” I report, stowing my pack securely before checking weapons. “Finn, where are they?”

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