"Excellent," Nathan rumbled, his optics dimming to a satisfied glow as he watched the six teenagers scramble to process their situation. "Your survival instinct is functioning within acceptable parameters."
As Alicia and the others shared looks of haunted relief, Nathan allowed a subtle, rhythmic click to emanate from his vocalizer—a Cybertronian approximation of a smile. "Since this is our initial encounter, consider this a specialized allocation for your silence."
With a flick of his wrist, six slips of high-polymer paper fluttered down from his massive palm, drifting through the air like autumn leaves.
"What is this?" Karl asked, snatching one of the slips from the air. Before he could scan the text, Nathan's voice vibrated through the warehouse again.
"Bank drafts. Ten thousand US dollars each. Valid at Fortis Bank or any affiliate branch. Use them to stabilize your local socioeconomic status."
Nathan leaned down, his faceplates only meters from the huddle. "A final diagnostic warning: these funds were acquired through unauthorized digital extraction. If my presence is disclosed to the authorities, you will not only lose the allocation, but you will be flagged as co-conspirators in a planetary-scale felony."
The teenagers stared at the checks, then at each other. Nathan's tone was no longer that of a monster; it was the silk-smooth resonance of a devil offering a pact.
He didn't believe in human promises. He believed in mutually assured destruction. By accepting the currency, they weren't just victims anymore—they were assets with a vested interest in his anonymity.
A minor expenditure for long-term security, Nathan thought, watching the two SUVs retreat down the industrial road through his long-range optics.
The six had taken the money. Ten thousand dollars was a massive sum for a high school student, enough to ensure that if one of them considered talking to the police, the others would act as a natural deterrent. Greed was the ultimate encryption.
"Sergeant."
E-13 and the rest of the squad approached, their optics flickering with curiosity. They didn't understand why their commander had released the organic witnesses, but they knew better than to challenge the protocol.
"This facility is compromised," Nathan commanded, turning to face his unit. "Identify a secondary Forward Operating Base and relocate immediately. I expect zero-visibility during the transit."
"A new base?" E-16 looked at the chemical plant with a trace of mechanical nostalgia. "Are you not coming with us, Sergeant?"
"Negative. I have high-priority clandestine objectives authorized by the Air Commander. You will operate under autonomous sweep-protocols until further notice."
Nathan had no intention of babysitting four drones while the Spymaster was in transit. He needed to be mobile and unburdened.
"Transmitting secure comm-link," Nathan added. "Once you have stabilized at the new coordinates, send the ping. If I require your kinetic support, I will signal."
"Understood, Sergeant!" the four responded in unison.
Nathan watched them begin their reconfiguration. He had established his command; he had planted his "seeds" in the human social grid. Now, it was time to move the needle on the Great War.
The Atlantic Ocean. An Unnamed Atoll.
Nathan arrived at the coordinates forty minutes later. He had pushed his YH-22 Silver Fox frame to Mach 3.2, carving a path through the high atmosphere that left no radar trace.
The destination was a desolate speck of sand and rock deep within the Atlantic. It was so small and isolated that it didn't exist on any civilian or military navigation chart. If Scalpel hadn't provided the exact quantum-signature, Nathan would have overshot it by a hundred miles.
The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, painting the ocean in a violent, shimmering crimson. Nathan ignored the view. He landed on a flat stretch of beach, his landing struts sinking into the sand, and transformed into his bipedal form.
He reached into his chest plates and retrieved the metallic sphere—the Space Bridge Anchor.
[ SECURE CHANNEL: SCALPEL ]
[ DOCTOR. I AM AT THE PRIMARY COORDINATES. INITIATE ANCHOR DEPLOYMENT? ]
[ YOU ARE AHEAD OF SCHEDULE, T-22. STAND BY... ]
Scalpel's response was frantic. Nathan could hear the background whine of laboratory equipment and the heavy, rhythmic thrum of the base's security scanners.
Speed is the only variable that matters, Nathan thought. His choice of the Silver Fox interceptor had paid off. At his current velocity, he could circumnavigate the planet in less than ten hours. He was no longer just a drone; he was a high-speed strategic delivery system.
While he waited for Scalpel to clear the signal-path, Nathan surveyed the island. It was a simple geographic feature—volcanic rock at the center, surrounded by dense tropical brush and white sand. It was the perfect "dead zone." No humans, no sensors, nothing but the roar of the surf and the cold vacuum of space waiting to be tapped.
He held the sphere up to the dying light, his optics scanning the intricate circuitry on its surface. Somewhere above him, in the cold dark beyond the atmosphere, a Spymaster was waiting for a door to open. And Nathan was the only one with the key.
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