Page 69 of Rescuing Ally: Part 2
Ten seconds. My fingers fly as I introduce a mathematical cancer into the calibration algorithm. Not crude sabotage—nothing as detectable as Stitch’s beacon attempt. Just a fractional shift in the quantum frequency resonance. A change so small, it slips past every failsafe. Small enough to be overlooked. Devastating enough to rot the core from the inside out.
But that’s not all I bury.
While the system digests the poisoned algorithm, I embed something else. A subtle phase modulation, hidden within the entanglement handshake. One that doesn’t just receive, but transmits.
A ghost-pulse.
A whisper buried in the static, a signal bleeding outward, carried on the same frequency Malfor thinks he controls.
It won’t light up any screens. I’ll never know if it worked.
But Mitzy will. If anyone can hear a scream inside silence, it’s her.
I mask the alteration beneath a layer of performance tweaks, burying my intent beneath simulated efficiency. My pulse thunders. My hands are steady.
Green lights flash. Calibration complete. The system stabilizes.
They’ll think they’ve won.
Let them.
Thirty seconds pass normally. The system runs diagnostics, checking connections and verifying integrity. Then—a ripple. Tiny at first, barely registering in quantum field stability. Then another, larger.
Amber warning lights pulse across the central console.
“Field instability detected,” the automated system announces. “Quantum coherence at 92 percent and declining.”
Silence crashes through the lab. Dr. Rafeeq’s hands fly across connections. Dr. Elkin frantically scans diagnostic data. Suited technicians swarm the central server, keyboards clicking in desperate rhythm.
“Explain.” The lead guard advances, hand shifting to a weapon.
“Entanglement degradation.” Dr. Rafeeq’s voice fractures at the edges. “The quantum field’s coherence is failing.”
“Fix it.”
“Working.” Dr. Elkin pulls system logs and scans data streams. “Could be hardware interference, environmental factors, or?—”
His words die. Eyes lock onto his screen, then shift to me—a flash of horrified understanding before his expression empties.
“Found it.” His voice flattens. “Calibration algorithm modification. Quantum frequency resonance altered by 0.0037 hertz.”
“Accidental?” The technician leans forward.
“Impossible.” Dr. Elkin’s resignation saturates each syllable. “That specific value creates harmonic distortion in the entanglement field. Deliberate.”
The door hisses open. Malfor enters, hands clasped behind his back, his face carved from ice—that terrible calm that precedes his worst cruelties.
“System failure reported.” His voice carries no anger, no surprise. Only expectation.
Dr. Elkin steps forward. “Quantum calibration error, sir. We’re working to?—”
“The nature and source are already known.” Malfor cuts him off. “Miss Collins appears determined to test boundaries despite yesterday’s education.”
His gaze pins me like an insect to a corkboard.
“I didn’t—” The words die on my tongue. Malfor doesn’t care. “No! The calibration completed normally. Perhaps the hardware?—”
“Enough.” His hand rises, silencing me. “The modification carries your signature—that particular harmonic distortion pattern appears in your published research. It’s elegant, but stupid.”
