Fate of Perfection (Finding Paradise Book 1)

by K. F. Breene

  ALSO BY K.F. BREENE

  The Warrior Chronicles Series

  Chosen

  Hunted

  Shadow Lands

  Invasion

  Siege

  Freedom (coming soon)

  Darkness Series

  Into the Darkness

  Braving the Elements

  On a Razor’s Edge

  Demons

  The Council

  Shadow Watcher

  Jonas

  Charles

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, places, events, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

  Text copyright © 2016 by Hazy Dawn Press, Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.

  Published by 47North, Seattle

  www.apub.com

  Amazon, the Amazon logo, and 47North are trademarks of Amazon.com, Inc., or its affiliates.

  ISBN-13: 9781503940680

  ISBN-10: 1503940683

  Cover design by M. S. Corley

  CONTENTS

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Chapter 1

  “We’re ready for you, miss.”

  Millicent glanced away from her idea board. Mr. Arnet, her subordinate, stood rigid with downcast eyes, waiting. She glanced at the time. “My demands have been met with regards to the tests?” she asked.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed as he gulped. “Yes, miss. They acquiesced to your . . . requests.”

  “Good.” Stepping back from the glowing screens, she swiped her hand through the air in front of her documents, using the movement of her body heat to issue a command. The documents scattered, filing themselves back into their respective folders. “And the weapons?”

  “Are laid out for you, miss. As requested.”

  She waited for Mr. Arnet to back out of the way before she stepped forward. Two of the Moxidone conglomerate guards waited beyond, looking at the ground respectfully. Without a word, she stalked through the department, going over the various commands she’d need to practice with the new suit. Mr. Arnet followed behind, and two more staffers joined him at the door leading into the weapons bay.

  “What’s the news from the other conglomerates, Mr. Arnet?” Millicent asked as they approached two men sitting in metal chairs. Their hands were bent behind their backs and obviously secured. Rope tied their ankles to the chair legs. Muscles bulged on their large frames and surly expressions accompanied hateful stares.

  “Just that Gregon Corp. is boasting a new, completely secure firewall. It protects their upper-level staffers.” Mr. Arnet slowed as they approached a small table with a hologram pod sitting on top. “They’ve tested it thoroughly. Their systems specialist seems . . . smug.”

  Millicent sniffed as she palmed the table, bringing up the hologram and then the console. After tapping in her code, her program sprang into the glow. “Having Curve huggers test your program is about as useful as accessing the mainframe through a burned-out screen. That’s just laziness. They should’ve contracted me to test it.”

  “It’s said that their programmer has complete confidence. From what I hear, she said she didn’t need your—Moxidone’s—double check.”

  Millicent arched an eyebrow. “She doesn’t think I can get through, is that what you’re saying, Mr. Arnet?”

  “Yes, miss,” he said quietly. “That is what I’ve heard.”

  Millicent looked over her prison program without seeing it, hearing the unspoken challenge by the programmer in the other conglomerate. There was only one person in the world as good as Millicent when it came to programming. Millicent and this other woman were constantly at war in a passive-aggressive sort of way. Being that they worked for competing conglomerates, they’d only communicated via notes when contracted to review each other’s work. And those notes were always a list of failures.

  And now this woman was throwing the gauntlet, basically telling the world that she was better than Millicent. This was Gregon Corp.’s attempt to get the code tested for free, Millicent had no doubt.

  Still . . . the wall would have to be torn down. That was a given.

  “I’ll expect more information by the end of the day,” Millicent said in a flat tone. “Now, let’s test, shall we? Where are the weapons?”

  “Over here, miss.” Mr. Arnet motioned her over to a case along the far wall. After glancing at the test subjects, still tied to their chairs, he placed his palm on the scanner and then stepped out of the way. The metal cover slid aside, revealing four guns resting on velvet.

  Gun—right, Millicent thought.

  A lightweight metal pole extended from the right sleeve of her suit, with a catch on the end. She chose the five-shot, a small gun that was great in close combat. After hooking it in place, she gave the command for her suit’s mechanism to pull it back in and secure the weaponry.

  “Yes,” she said, moving her arm to learn the feel of the added weight. “Noticeable, but an improvement. Let’s hope the mechanism is improved as well. Are the test subjects wearing bulletproof plates?”

  “Yes, miss. Unless you repeat fire, the plates should hold.”

  She nodded without comment. Most staffers in her position wouldn’t be concerned with killing. In fact, they’d probably aim to. The fact that it made her uncomfortable was an emotional gray area, and something she couldn’t advertise.

  Gun—left.

  A pole extended from the other sleeve, with a larger catch. Being right-handed and faster on that side, she often chose a larger, heavier gun for her left hand. It was a handicap she was familiar with, and now strengthened with firepower. The left wasn’t as fast, but it made a bigger impact.

  “Knife, miss?” Mr. Arnet glanced at the row of knives, ranging from pocket-sized to incredibly daunting.

  “This suit is only equipped for two guns.”

  “Yes, miss.” Mr. Arnet backed away.

  Millicent reassumed her position in front of the hologram. She accessed the implants of the test subjects. “I will be uploading the program in four . . . three . . . two . . .”

  One of the test subjects flexed and shook. His jaw clenched, and fire sparked in his eyes. The other grunted, but didn’t move. Hate flashed through his gaze.

  “Interesting . . .” Millicent looked over the individual’s stats. “The upload seems to have created a mild electric shock. Seems quite painful. I’ll have to amend that, or we’ll get pushback on the update.”

  “Yes, miss.” Mr. Arnet and the other staffers took to their screens along the wall to make notes, not that she’d need them. The alterations would be easy.

  “I will now set the parameters of the new imprisonment program. These men had previousl
y been incarcerated, is that right?” Millicent altered the settings as she waited for Mr. Arnet’s response.

  “Yes, miss. Murderers, both. Fairly gruesome. They will be recycled when we no longer have need of them.”

  “Yes, of course.” Millicent surveyed their corded muscles and long limbs. They looked powerful, and if they’d committed a violent crime, they were certainly unhinged. It appeared the conglomerate had taken her threat seriously and was allowing her the training she required. Good.

  Finishing with the settings, she uploaded those as well, pleased when the smaller update didn’t cause the same stiffening. Next she stepped away. Without a word, one guard wheeled the table to the side and the other stepped up next to her.

  “More room, please. I’ll be fine, I assure you.” Millicent glanced behind to make sure the guard increased his distance. “Mr. Arnet?”

  “We’re ready, miss.”

  “Execute the program in test subject B. Monitor his stats.”

  “Yes, miss,” Mr. Arnet said. The other staffers bent toward their screens.

  The man who had shaken during the update clenched his jaw. His face turned red, and frustration bled into his eyes. “Undo his bonds, please,” she said. Her pulse started to pound. A burst of perspiration coated her forehead.

  Here we go.

  A guard did as instructed and then took out a gun before stepping away. He sighted on the test subject, whose face shone with sweat. Muscles flexed along the subject’s body.

  “Stats, Mr. Arnet,” Millicent said, struggling to keep the anxiety out of her voice.

  “Pain sensors are flaring,” Mr. Arnet yelled, as though he were under fire. “He’s not fighting them very hard.”

  “He has a tiny bit of muscle play,” one of the other staffers said.

  Millicent flexed and unflexed her fingers. Her breath came fast. Still, nothing happened.

  A bead of sweat dripped down the side of the subject’s face. Then his muscles went lax and fear overcame the frustration in his eyes.

  “Update,” she said, knowing the answer.

  “It held.” Mr. Arnet sighed with a smile. He wiped his forehead. “You did it, miss. It works.”

  “It works on weak individuals,” Millicent said softly, now staring at the other subject. He stared back, his gaze teeming with cold determination and violence. “Bind subject B, and let’s get ready for subject A.”

  “Yes, miss.” Mr. Arnet bent to his screen. She almost didn’t hear him say, “One more.”

  “We’re ready, miss,” Mr. Arnet said, braced. The guard stepped away after securing subject B.

  “Execute,” Millicent said.

  The subject’s brow lowered over his eyes. Confusion and then irritation stole over his expression. Millicent stopped herself from taking a step back. She knew that look. He’d fight the program. And given his size and background, he’d probably win.

  “Release his bonds,” Millicent said, working to keep her voice even. “Be careful.”

  The way the guard jerked away after undoing the subject’s hands was telling.

  Here we go again. Millicent thought, Heels.

  The spikes in her heels elongated, raising her up. The plates would stop the razor tip from penetrating his body. Hopefully. Or else this would be over very quickly.

  Silence stole over the bay. The subject did not move. Did not even flex.

  “Update,” Millicent barked, her pulse rushing in her ears.

  “Placid,” Mr. Arnet said. “Not fighting.”

  “Do I need to make you fight?” Millicent asked the subject.

  A glimmer sparkled in his eyes. Humor.

  His sudden flex made Millicent jerk. With a human roar, the subject’s face went red and his muscles strained against the invisible bonds created by the program and his implant. Struggling, he stood.

  “He’s breaking through,” Mr. Arnet yelled in a high-pitched voice. “The program won’t hold.”

  “Hmm,” Millicent said, sidetracked by her desire to solve the technical problem.

  “Miss—”

  It was the only warning she got. And the only one she needed.

  The man rushed her, shedding her program’s attempts to keep him contained like an oversized coat. She dodged his hammy fist, stepped, and kicked. Her spike jabbed his side, putting a dent in the practice suit.

  He punched at her again. She dodged and then jumped into a scissor kick—no sense jumping the huge man. It wouldn’t do any good.

  Her foot struck his chest this time. He staggered backward.

  Two quick steps, another jump, and she thrust her heel into his sternum with all her weight behind it.

  Gun—right.

  His breath exited his body with a pained grunt. Her heel tangled in the suit plate as the gun silently and quickly filled her hand. She unhooked it from the pole as gravity dragged her body to the ground. She yanked her foot free, tearing the suit. Blood poured out of the hole she’d made in the man’s body.

  Clearly the practice suits weren’t as good as the weapons she’d designed.

  Twisting and then jumping up, she braced herself with her gun out, not sure how much damage she’d done. Her finger rested on the cool metal of the trigger.

  The man staggered toward her before stumbling off course. Pain bled through his expression, and his hand grabbed at the new hole in his chest. He looked down in confusion before the strength went out of his legs.

  Her gut twisted, but she kept the uncomfortable feeling from her face as she straightened up and rehooked the gun.

  Gun—right, disengage.

  “Guards,” Millicent said, her tone flat and her heart clattering behind her ribs.

  The guards sprang into action, making for the subject as she turned toward the weapons bay. With a studiedly neutral expression, she waited for Mr. Arnet to assist her in putting the guns away, ignoring his shaking hands and pale face. After she was finished, Millicent turned to go back to work. She had fixes to make on this latest program.

  “Miss?”

  She turned with a quirked eyebrow, not trusting her voice just yet.

  Mr. Arnet pointed at her shoes.

  “Yes, of course.” Heels—disengage, she thought. And then sighed when they failed to perform. “They tend to malfunction when my adrenaline is up from fighting.” Millicent tsked. “Another issue to resolve.”

  “Yes, miss,” Mr. Arnet mumbled, following closely behind her.

  She didn’t spare a look at the subjects. The conglomerate wouldn’t expect her to. She would, however, need to hack into the system to check the implant’s recording of her vitals after the shock of stabbing him. She wagered there would be some telling information that she didn’t want to surface. It might undo all she’d worked so hard to build.

  Chapter 2

  A slamming door reverberated off the walls like a shotgun blast.

  Trent McAllister jumped. With the pad of his finger, he wiped away a drip of sweat. A figure emerged in the hallway. Then two figures.

  It was time.

  Back snapping straight, he stood next to his idea board and prepared for the single most important meeting of his life. He tried to ignore the uncomfortable shaking in his extremities as more sweat dribbled down his brow.

  “Mr. McAllister is right over here, sir.” Trent’s boss, Ms. Hutchins, let her hand drift in Trent’s general location.

  With an irritated snort, Mr. White stalled in his determined stride and glanced Trent’s way. “Yes, of course.”

  As they came to a stop in front of Trent, Ms. Hutchins looked off toward the other work pods in the dimly lit, hushed space, organized in straight lines spanning the large floor. Screens glowed a faint blue, illuminating faces staring in focused concentration. All except for those who knew the director was hanging around. They were staring in Mr. White’s direction with wide eyes.

  “His is the intriguing idea behind our current project,” Ms. Hutchins said. “The report is on your desk, I believe.”
<
br />   “Yes, of course.” Mr. White gave Trent his full hard-eyed attention. “You’ve finally come up with a way to increase the percentage of brain use, correct?”

  Trent moved his lips, but instead of words, only an embarrassing croak tumbled out of his mouth. He cleared his throat as Mr. White glanced at his wrist screen. Glowing red numbers appeared along Mr. White’s skin. Time was running out.

  “Yes, sir, in a way,” Trent said in a shaking voice. “Working with the lab, I’ve engineered a chemical compound that should work seamlessly with fetal development in the womb—”

  “Oh, now wait a minute.” Mr. White leaned back and held up a thin hand with gnarled knuckles. “The womb?” He looked at Ms. Hutchins. “You’re talking about affecting the natural creative projects? I don’t remember reading that in my report—”

  “It’s the only way,” Trent rushed to say, taking a wobbly step forward. His stomach clenched as both bosses turned to stare at him with tight lips and a warning in their eyes. “Excuse me for interrupting, sir. But yes, it can only be done with natural creation. My goal is simply to enhance the female’s body during a few key phases of brain development in the fetus. Possibly nothing will happen. Indeed, that would be the worst-case scenario—besides the hit to our budget. But I suspect that the chemical reaction during creation, starting from roughly week six, will stimulate brain function in a few areas. The percentage of increase will be minimal, but the ways in which we’ll expand the brain’s capability are exciting.”

  “And what exciting ways might that be?” Mr. White shifted his weight and cocked his head.

  “Yes.” Trent tapped the air in front of his screen and then pulled up a document. He pointed at the structure of the chemical compound he’d devised, careful to stay outside the heat registers so the image didn’t wobble off the screen. “Right now we can program certain electronic devices to respond when we think the commands. Our implants are intermediary devices. They read the brain waves we’ve previously taught them, enhance those brain waves to react with the device, which then physically performs the action. It saves time and effort. Naturally, some people are more suited for this, and those individuals get a higher level of . . . cooperation, but everyone with an implant can effectively learn these strategies to some degree. The problem is, these commands, and the accompanying actions, are mostly rudimentary. It’s limited to one- or two-word commands. Go. Stop. That sort of thing. So we’re hoping to expand the capability.”