The Atlantic was a black mirror beneath the stealth jet, calm on the surface but hiding everything dangerous below. From the cockpit window, Sierra could already see it in the distance: a low-profile vessel with no visible flags, drifting like a ghost between international waters.
The Astraeus.
Crestwell's floating data vault.
It looked like a cargo freighter from afar, rusted and plain. But the moment the jet swept closer, the subtle irregularities became clear—heat signatures masked by falsified outputs, radar-disrupting tiles lining the hull, and sentry drones cloaked by thermal fog.
"You're sure this is it?" Annabel asked, sitting beside her, hands clenched around her harness.
"It's not just the heart of the Program," Sierra said. "It's the graveyard for every version of me they ever tried to perfect. And we're going to sink it."
The pilot, an old mercenary Sierra trusted from her freelance days, gave a curt nod. "We've got a five-minute window before their satellites sweep back. In and out, Viper."
"Copy that."
Sierra and Annabel dropped silently onto the deck using the winged harness system, their boots landing in practiced synchronization. It felt like a ballet—only sharper, heavier, laced with the hum of death.
The Astraeus was eerily quiet.
Too quiet.
They moved through the corridors, bypassing guards with neurotoxin darts, hacking locked bulkheads with old codes Sierra still remembered from her assassin days.
Finally, they reached the main vault.
A biometric scanner stood in their path, glowing red.
Sierra glanced at Annabel. "It needs my print."
She pressed her palm to the scanner.
The system scanned, beeped, then flashed green.
> Welcome, Sierra Voss. Clearance Level: Black Shadow.
The door slid open with a hiss.
Inside was a cylindrical server core—an enormous glowing chamber suspended in the center of a circular room. Screens lined the walls, each flashing names, codes, DNA sequences, facial scans.
Clones.
Replicas.
Ghosts.
Annabel walked slowly past them. "These are all... versions of you?"
Sierra nodded grimly. "Some never woke up. Some failed. Others… replaced people who didn't even know they were targets."
She walked to the console and inserted the kill switch—Xavier's encoded case.
> Protocol Requiem recognized. Final authorization required.
"Voiceprint," Sierra muttered. "It's always voiceprint."
She leaned into the speaker.
"I am Sierra Voss. Designation: Viper. I hereby terminate Project VX-087."
> Voiceprint accepted.
> Warning: Deletion is irreversible. Initiating in 60 seconds.
A klaxon began to wail.
But as Sierra moved to secure the data drive for personal records, the lights snapped off.
The chamber was plunged into emergency red.
Then a voice echoed from overhead.
"Well done, Sierra. I knew you'd come."
Crestwell.
She looked up toward the ceiling camera.
"You're too late, Arlo."
"I don't think so. I expected you'd find this place. I built it to draw you in."
Sierra's eyes narrowed. "A trap."
"Of course. You really think I'd leave my life's work floating unattended?"
The walls began to shift. Panels peeled back.
Dozens of incubation chambers slid from the sides.
Inside: women.
All identical.
All… her.
"Meet your replacements," Crestwell said. "Fully awakened. Fully obedient. And programmed to kill you on sight."
The chambers hissed.
The clones' eyes snapped open, each face a perfect reflection of hers.
Annabel gasped. "How do we fight that?"
Sierra didn't blink.
"We don't."
She turned and hurled a plasma grenade into the server core.
The screen began flashing.
> CRITICAL SYSTEM FAILURE.
> Self-Destruct Engaged: 90 seconds.
Sierra grabbed Annabel's hand. "Run."
---
They sprinted through the darkened corridors, the red alarms screaming above them, the sound of clone pods breaking open behind.
The Astraeus groaned, metal twisting, lights bursting. Steam poured from the vents as the explosion countdown roared in their ears.
"Faster!" Sierra shouted.
Annabel slid under a falling pipe, vaulting over a dead clone in their path.
Behind them, footsteps—identical ones—chased in unison.
Sierra tossed a flash detonation back down the hallway, buying seconds of blinding light.
They reached the upper deck just as the jet hovered into position.
The rope ladder dropped.
Sierra boosted Annabel up first, then leapt and grabbed hold just as the first explosion ripped through the lower hull.
Flames erupted below, and the Astraeus began to sink.
From the air, it looked like the end of a chapter.
From the ground, it sounded like vengeance.
---
Once airborne, Sierra sat beside Annabel, breathing hard.
"You okay?" she asked.
Annabel nodded, her face smudged with smoke. "Yeah. I just… we did it."
Sierra looked down at the shrinking fire on the ocean.
"No," she said softly. "We ended one part. But this war? Crestwell's still out there. He made us weapons. He made us enemies. But now…"
She met her daughter's gaze, fire in her voice.
"…he made a mistake."