The silence in the wake of the Arbiter's final deletion was not peaceful. It was the silence of a held breath, of a tripwire not yet sprung. In the warehouse, that silence had a color: a deep, watchful violet, emanating from Specter's eyes as she processed, planned, and patrolled.
The team moved around her with a new, careful deference. She was not a piece of furniture anymore. She was a loaded gun left on the table, its safety switch replaced with an enigmatic rune no one could read.
Beatrix voiced the collective scientific terror one evening, her eyes glued to Specter's biometric readouts, which were now a fascinating and horrifying blend of organic rhythms and machine perfection. "She's not just loyal, Julian. She's… devout. And her logic is recursive. 'Julian ensures survival. Therefore, Julian's orders ensure survival. Therefore, my obedience ensures survival.' It's a perfect, unbreakable loop. Unless the premise fails."
