Jones was on his knees when the lights returned to normal.
Not because he had fallen.
Because his system had forced him there.
Magnetic restraints snapped around his wrists and ankles with a sharp metallic crack, locking him to the reinforced floor. The impact sent a dull vibration through his frame, rattling up his spine. His vision dimmed slightly, peripheral data feeds collapsing one by one.
Mobility restricted.
Combat authority revoked.
External control priority: ACTIVE.
Jones clenched his jaw as the pressure inside his head intensified. It wasn't pain—no, it was worse. It was the sensation of being overwritten. Like watching his own body from behind glass.
Derick slammed his fist into the console hard enough to make the screen flicker.
"Enough!" he barked.
The chamber answered him by sealing itself.
Heavy security shutters descended around the training arena, locking into place with a deep hydraulic thud. Red warning lights ignited along the ceiling, bathing everything in an oppressive glow. Automated systems hummed to life, their presence felt even if unseen.
Jones exhaled slowly, forcing his breathing to stay even.
So this is containment, he thought.
He tried to move his fingers.
Nothing.
The restraints weren't just physical—they were layered. Magnetic locks, neural dampeners, system-level command overrides. Every attempt to exert control was intercepted before it could become action.
"Jones," Derick said, his voice tight. "Do not fight it."
Jones let out a short, humorless breath. "Wasn't planning to."
That was only half a lie.
Inside, his system was still burning. Not overheating—straining. Like something inside him had been stretched too far and refused to snap back into place.
Warnings flickered and vanished too quickly for full readouts.
Structural deviation detected.
Limiter feedback unstable.
Synchronization variance increasing.
Jones's gaze drifted to his hands—metallic, steady, obedient in their stillness.
They weren't supposed to do that, he thought. I wasn't supposed to break through.
Yet he had.
Not by strength.
By instinct.
Derick stepped closer, boots echoing against the reinforced floor. He stopped just outside the containment field, arms crossed, eyes locked on Jones like he was trying to see past the metal and systems to the man underneath.
"You crossed a line," Derick said quietly.
Jones looked up. "You told me to push."
"I told you to train," Derick replied. "Not to tear through safeguards you don't understand."
Jones swallowed. "Then why did it feel… right?"
That gave Derick pause.
For a moment, the commander didn't answer. His jaw tightened, eyes flicking briefly toward the observation glass above the chamber.
Jones followed his gaze.
Figures stood behind the glass now.
Not technicians.
Observers.
Their silhouettes were still, deliberate. Watching not with concern—but with interest.
Jones felt something cold settle in his core.
"They saw it," he said.
Derick didn't deny it.
"They're already asking questions," Derick replied. "About what you are. About what you might become."
Jones flexed against the restraints again—harder this time.
The system reacted instantly.
A surge of suppressive force rippled through his frame, locking his joints tighter, forcing his head down a fraction of an inch.
Not violent.
Controlled.
Precise.
Authority reinforced.
Jones hissed through his teeth. "I didn't lose control."
Derick stepped closer. "That's the problem."
Jones looked up sharply.
"You didn't lose control," Derick continued. "You adapted."
Silence stretched between them, broken only by the low hum of containment systems.
Jones's thoughts raced.
If adaptation is a threat…
Then what does that make me?
The chamber lights flickered once.
Then a new tone cut through the air—clean, calm, authoritative.
Not an alarm.
An authorization signal.
"Override acknowledged."
"Subject Jones cleared for restricted evaluation."
Derick's eyes widened slightly.
"That fast…" he muttered.
The restraints loosened—not fully, but enough for Jones to lift his head freely. The pressure in his mind eased, though the system still held firm control.
Jones felt it immediately.
They weren't shutting him down.
They were testing the limits.
Derick turned back to him. "Listen to me carefully," he said. "From this point on, every move you make will be watched. Measured. Questioned."
Jones held his gaze. "And if I don't fit what they expect?"
Derick's expression hardened.
"Then you become a liability."
The containment field powered down to standby.
Jones remained on his knees—not because he was forced anymore, but because he chose not to stand just yet.
Inside him, something had shifted.
A crack.
A fault line.
Not in the system—
But between what he was built to be
and what he was starting to become.