Page 94 of Reckless: Corruption

“Like this?” Jinx asks, inserting a pause where momentum would dictate continuation, creating what Mona calls amathematical anomaly.When he resumes, the shift transforms his wild movements into something eerily precise yet unpredictable.

“Exactly,” Mona confirms, genuine approval brightening her clinical assessment. “Very efficient adaptation. Much improved unpredictability.”

Ryker approaches the concept differently, incorporating irregular timing into his precisely calculated movements. His structured military technique softens at unpredictable moments, creating openings that seem like weaknesses but transform into devastating counter-opportunities. The result maintains his tactical strength while eliminating the patterns Sterling would exploit.

But it’s Theo who embraces the methodology most completely. Our omega abandons his usual place at the sidelines, joining the training circle with uncharacteristic intensity. His artistic nature translates Mona’s mathematical disruption into something almost choreographic—movement as aesthetic deception. He flows like water then stops like stone, his unpredictability not in strength but in its sudden absence.

“Beautiful application,” Mona assesses, watching Theo move through a sequence that begins with classic omega fluidity but fractures into something jagged and dangerous. “Omega designation expectations create additional pattern advantages. Very effective misdirection. Much combat potential.”

When Theo pins Jinx using a move that combines traditional omega flexibility with decidedly non-traditional aggression, ourferal alpha’s surprise transforms into delighted respect. “Shit, songbird. Remind me never to piss you off.”

“Finn,” Mona calls, beckoning him to join us despite his weakened state. “Your analytical processing is valuable here. Observe pattern disruption sequences.”

Though still pale, Finn moves to the center, watching intently as Mona demonstrates how even small adjustments in timing and positioning create mathematical anomalies that confuse pattern-based fighters.

“It’s like changing the formula mid-calculation,” he realizes, eyes bright with understanding despite his illness. “Forcing them to recalibrate constantly.”

“Exactly.” Mona rewards his comprehension with an approving nod. “Very efficient observation. Much cognitive integration.”

The training evolves into something collaborative and unexpectedly cohesive. Theo integrates Mona’s principles into his fluid, artistic style, creating movements that blend beauty with lethal efficiency. Ryker adapts his tactical approach, introducing deliberate irregularities that preserve his precision while breaking predictable patterns. Jinx embraces the concept most naturally, his inherent chaos finding new purpose through mathematical disruption.

And I—I find myself at the center of it all, my unique position as Sterling’s daughter and pack beta allowing me to bridge these different approaches. Alexander’s training meshes with Ryker’s tactical discipline, Jinx’s wild adaptability, Theo’s fluid grace, and Finn’s analytical precision, all guided by Mona’s intimate understanding of Sterling methodology. For the first time, I’m not just existing alongside the pack but integrating with them, my fractured pieces fitting into their structure in ways I never thought possible. My identity as Sterling’s daughter—once asource of shame and confusion—now provides value to people I’ve come to... care about.

When we finally pause for water, I catch myself actually enjoying this fucked-up family training session. The irony isn’t lost on me—learning to fight my father’s combat style from my sister while surrounded by a pack I never asked for but somehow ended up with anyway.

Life has a sick sense of humor sometimes.

“Your collective combat efficiency has improved approximately thirty-seven percent,” Mona announces, clinical assessment at odds with the small smile playing at her lips. “Very satisfactory progress. Much integration potential.”

“You’re a good teacher,” Theo observes, toweling sweat from his face. “When you’re not being deliberately confusing.”

“Confusion is a tactical advantage,” she responds, but there’s a hint of pleased surprise in her voice. “Though clarity has its uses in appropriate contexts.”

“Why haven’t you shown us this before?” Ryker asks, always the strategist looking for underlying motivations.

Mona unwraps another lollipop, her momentary focus suggesting the question requires careful consideration. “You weren’t ready,” she finally says. “Pack integration was suboptimal. Much individual posturing. Little collective harmony.”

The assessment, delivered with her characteristic bluntness, hits uncomfortably close to home. Before my infiltration of Sterling’s facility, before Finn’s illness, before our collective mission against the Aurora Facility, we were still individual pieces rather than a cohesive unit. I was still running in place, pretending I could leave any time while knowing I never would.

“And now?” I prompt, curious about her perception of our progress.

“Now you function as a system rather than components.” She studies us with that unnerving scientific intensity. “Very interesting evolution. Much adaptive potential.” Her gaze settles on me with unexpected warmth. “Common purpose creates stronger bonds than designation biology. Fascinating sociological phenomenon.”

From anyone else, it would be a simple observation. From Mona, it’s profound approval. Not knowing how to process that, I push toward more practical concerns.

“Can we continue this tomorrow?” I ask, eager to learn more of Sterling’s combat methodology—not to become like him, but to better understand the enemy we’re facing.

“Actually,” Mona says, her eyes darting briefly to the security camera in the corner before she visibly shifts back to her more typically chaotic demeanor, “combat training must be temporarily suspended. Very important scientific breakthrough. Much experimental excitement!”

The transition is so practiced it reminds me of watching skilled code switch between programming languages—deliberate, purposeful, and revealing about which persona she considers necessary for which audience.

Now I understand. She learned early that brilliance was dangerous around our father—that being underestimated was her only protection. The chaos wasn’t just a shield; it was survival.

“What breakthrough?” Finn asks, immediately alert despite his exhaustion.

“The vaccine, obviously.” She bounces slightly on her toes, manic energy returning in full force. “Preliminary formulation complete. Very promising molecular structure. Much immunological potential.”

The news hits like an electrical current, jolting through the room. A vaccine—the one thing that could turn the tide againstSterling’s genocidal plans, save thousands of betas worldwide, and potentially heal Finn before the virus progresses further.

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