Chapter 78 The Psychic Protocol
Evelyn's POV - Adrian's Office - 2:52 PM
"Psychic soldiers."
The words hung in the air like a bomb waiting to detonate.
"That's impossible," Adrian said flatly. "Psychic abilities aren't real. They're—"
"Science fiction?" Dr. Hartley interrupted. "That's what most people think. That's what we wanted them to think. But Dr. Grant Evelyn you were part of the team that proved otherwise."
I stared at her, my mind racing. "I don't remember any of this."
"Of course you don't," Dr. Hartley said. "Because someone went to great lengths to ensure you wouldn't. The memory suppression you underwent three years ago? That wasn't the first time your memories were tampered with. After the explosion eight years ago, someone performed extensive neural surgery on you. Not just to erase Operation Mindbreak. To erase something else. Something you could do."
My hand moved instinctively to the scar behind my right ear. The one Dr. Ashford had found months ago.
"What could I do?" I asked, though part of me wasn't sure I wanted to know the answer.
Dr. Hartley pulled out a tablet and opened a heavily redacted file. "Operation Mindbreak was started in 2015 with a simple question: could we enhance human cognitive abilities to the point of genuine extrasensory perception? Not tricks or cold reading, but actual telepathy, precognition, remote viewing. The military applications were obvious."
"You experimented on soldiers," Marcus said, his voice hard.
"We experimented on volunteers," Dr. Hartley corrected. "Soldiers who understood the risks and agreed to participate. Dr. Martinez—Evelyn was one of those volunteers. But she wasn't just a subject. She was also the lead researcher. Because she was the only one who showed genuine, measurable results."
"You're saying I'm psychic," I said, the words feeling absurd even as I spoke them.
"I'm saying you were," Dr. Hartley said. "Before the explosion. Before the surgery. You demonstrated consistent, reproducible telepathic abilities. You could read surface thoughts, sense emotional states, occasionally catch glimpses of future events. Nothing dramatic no mind control or telekinesis. But enough that it was undeniably real."
Adrian moved closer to me protectively. "Even if this is true snd I'm not saying I believe it why would that be worth killing someone over?"
"Because of what she discovered," Dr. Hartley said. "Dr. Martinez didn't just prove that psychic abilities could be enhanced. She proved how they were being enhanced. And the answer—" She paused. "—the answer was that certain people are born with latent psychic abilities. They just need the right trigger to activate them."
"What kind of trigger?" I asked.
"Trauma," Dr. Hartley said quietly. "Specifically, severe childhood trauma. Abuse, neglect, near-death experiences. We discovered that every volunteer who developed measurable psychic abilities had experienced significant trauma before age ten. The trauma literally rewired their neural pathways, creating connections that shouldn't exist."
My mouth went dry. "So you started deliberately traumatizing children?"
"No," Dr. Hartley said firmly. "God, no. When Dr. Martinez presented her findings, when she showed that psychic ability correlated with childhood trauma she argued that we should shut down the program immediately. That it was unethical to continue. That if the research fell into the wrong hands, someone might start deliberately traumatizing children to create psychic soldiers."
"But someone didn't want to shut it down," Adrian said.
"Correct," Dr. Hartley confirmed. "Someone very high up in the chain of command saw the potential. Saw that if we could identify children with latent abilities children who'd already been traumatized—we could recruit them young. Train them. Create an entire generation of intelligence operatives with abilities that would seem impossible."
"That's monstrous," Marcus said.
"That's classified military research," Dr. Hartley said. "And when Dr. Martinez threatened to go public, threatened to expose what we'd discovered someone tried to kill her. The explosion was meant to destroy her and all her research. But she survived. And someone someone with access and resources helped her disappear."
I pressed my hands to my temples, trying to process this. "If this is all true, if I really had psychic abilities—why don't I remember any of it? Why can't I—" I stopped. "Why can't I still do it?"
"Because whoever performed the surgery didn't just erase your memories," Dr. Hartley said. "They damaged the neural pathways that enabled your abilities. On purpose. They made sure you could never access those abilities again, even if you remembered they existed."
"So I'm not psychic anymore," I said.
"I didn't say that," Dr. Hartley said carefully. "I said the pathways were damaged. But Dr. Martinez—Evelyn—you were brilliant. One of the most gifted neurological researchers I've ever worked with. If anyone could figure out how to repair those pathways, restore those abilities it would be you."
"Why would I want to?" I demanded. "Even if what you're saying is true, even if I once had these abilities—why would I want them back?"
"Because," a new voice said from the doorway, "there are others like you. And they're being used."
Everyone turned.
A man stood in the doorway early forties, dark hair graying at the temples, intense eyes that seemed to look through you rather than at you. He wore a simple suit and carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone who'd seen combat.
Marcus immediately moved between the stranger and the rest of us. "Who are you? How did you get past security?"
"I'm someone who's very good at not being noticed," the man said. "My name is Daniel Cross. And like Dr. Martinez, I was part of Operation Mindbreak."
Dr. Hartley's face went pale. "Daniel? You're supposed to be dead. The file said—"
"The file said what they wanted you to believe," Daniel interrupted. "Just like they wanted everyone to believe Evelyn died. But some of us survived. Some of us got out. And some of us—" His voice hardened. "—have been tracking what happened to the program after it was officially shut down."
"What do you mean?" I asked.
"I mean Operation Mindbreak wasn't shut down," Daniel said. "It was privatized. Sold to the highest bidder. And the buyer—" He
The room went deathly silent.
"That's impossible," Adrian said. "Stirling-Hale focused on memory manipulation. Project Tabula Rasa. There was nothing in any of the files about psychic abilities."
"Because they kept them separate," Daniel said. "Two different programs, two different teams. But both funded by the same source. Both designed to accomplish the same goal creating soldiers who could be controlled completely."
"Project Tabula Rasa erases and replaces memories," I said slowly, understanding dawning. "And Operation Mindbreak creates operatives with psychic abilities who could—"
"Read minds," Daniel finished. "Sense intentions. Predict enemy movements. The perfect intelligence operatives. And if you combine the two programs if you condition someone to forget their psychic abilities and then activate them at will—you create sleeper agents who don't even know what they're capable of until they're triggered."
"Oh my God," I breathed. "The other victims. The forty-seven people we've been helping recover from Project Tabula Rasa—"
"Some of them aren't just victims of memory manipulation," Daniel said. "Some of them are Operation Mindbreak survivors who were conditioned to forget their abilities. And right now, they're walking around with psychic powers they don't know they have, waiting to be activated by whoever bought the program from Stirling."
Adrian's phone rang. He glanced at it, his expression darkening. "It's Director Valdez. She says it's urgent."
He put it on speaker.
"Adrian, we have a situation," Valdez's voice was tight with tension. "Three of the Project Tabula Rasa victims we've been treating have disappeared in the past 24 hours. No signs of struggle, no indication they were planning to leave. They just—vanished."
"Which three?" I asked.
"Subjects 12, 27, and 31," Valdez said. "Michael Chen, Sarah Rodriguez, and—" She paused. "—and Vanessa Cortez."
My blood ran cold. "Vanessa's missing?"
"She was supposed to check in this morning," Valdez said. "When she didn't, we sent agents to her apartment. Everything was normal. Her phone was there, her wallet, her keys. But she's gone. And Adrian—there's something else. We found a message on her mirror. Written in lipstick. It said: 'They're waking us up.'"
Daniel and Dr. Hartley exchanged grim looks.
"It's started," Daniel said. "Whoever bought Operation Mindbreak from Stirling—they're activating the sleeper agents."
"How?" Adrian demanded. "Stirling's in federal custody. The technology is locked down. How could anyone—"
"Because the activation isn't technological," Dr. Hartley interrupted. "It's psychological. A specific phrase, a particular stimulus, something encoded into their conditioning years ago. Once they hear it, the memories and abilities come flooding back. And whoever's controlling them—" She stopped. "—controls an army of psychic operatives."
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number:
Unknown: Dr. Martinez. We need to talk. About Operation Mindbreak. About what you really are. And about your daughter. Because she's special too, isn't she? We've been monitoring her development. Six months old and already showing signs. The question is—will you let her develop naturally? Or will you try to suppress her abilities like yours were suppressed?
The phone slipped from my hands.
"Evelyn?" Adrian caught me as my legs gave out. "What's wrong?"
"Hope," I managed. "They mentioned Hope. They said she's—"
I couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't voice the terrible possibility.
Daniel picked up my phone, read the message, and his expression turned grave. "They're not bluffing. Psychic abilities are hereditary. If you had them, there's a high probability your daughter will develop them too."
"No," I said. "No, she's just a baby. She's normal. She can't be—"
"Have you noticed anything unusual?" Dr. Hartley asked gently. "Anything that seems like more than typical infant behavior?"
I thought about how Hope always seemed to know when I was upset before I showed any outward signs. How she'd cry when Adrian was stressed even if he was in another room. How sometimes she'd stare at empty spaces with intense focus, as if seeing something we couldn't.
"Oh God," I whispered.
Adrian's hand tightened on my shoulder. "Even if Hope does have some kind of abilities, we'll protect her. We'll figure out how to—"
His phone rang again. James this time.
"Adrian, turn on the news. Channel Seven. Right now."
Adrian grabbed the remote, switching on the large screen in his office.
A breaking news report filled the screen:
"BREAKING: Unexplained Mass Event in Lower Manhattan. Dozens of people reported experiencing simultaneous visions at approximately 3 PM today. Authorities are investigating. Witnesses describe seeing images of—"
The report cut off abruptly, replaced by a different feed.
The new image showed a woman standing on what appeared to be a rooftop. She was young, maybe mid-twenties, with dark hair and eyes that looked wrong too wide, too focused, almost glowing.
When she spoke, her voice somehow carried through the screen with unnatural clarity:
"My name is Subject Zero. Eight years ago, I died in an explosion. Except I didn't die. I was taken. Trained. Turned into something new. And now—" She smiled, and it was terrifying. "—now I'm waking the others. All forty-seven of them. All the victims of Project Tabula Rasa who don't know they're also Operation Mindbreak survivors. I'm activating their abilities. And together—" Her eyes seemed to look directly through the camera, directly at us. "—we're going to show the world what we can do."
She raised her hand, and behind her, the entire Manhattan skyline seemed to shimmer, as if reality itself was bending.
"Dr. Martinez," the woman continued, "I know you're watching. I know you're scared for your daughter. Good. You should be. Because unlike you, she won't have her abilities suppressed. She'll be raised knowing what she is. Knowing what she can do. Just like I was. And when she's old enough—" The smile widened. "—she'll join us."
The feed cut back to the confused news anchor.
But the damage was done.
I looked at Adrian, at Dr. Hartley, at Daniel, at Marcus all staring at the screen in horror.
"That woman," I said, my voice shaking. "The one calling herself Subject Zero. I need to see her face again."
Daniel pulled up the footage on his tablet, pausing on a clear image of the woman's face.
And I felt the world tilt on its axis.
Because I knew that face.
Not from Operation Mindbreak. Not from any memory I'd recovered.
I knew it because I'd seen it in the mirror every day for three years.
The woman looked exactly like me.
Not similar. Not related.
Identical.
"That's impossible," I whispered. "That's my face. That's—"
"That's your clone," Dr. Hartley said, her voice hollow. "Oh my God. That's what they did during those eighteen missing months. They didn't just experiment on you. They cloned you. And while you were given memory suppression and sent out into the world to forget—" She looked at the screen, at my identical twin smiling that terrible smile. " They kept her. Raised her. Trained her to be everything you were meant to be. Everything Operation Mindbreak was designed to create."
"A psychic weapon," Daniel said. "With all your abilities, none of your ethical concerns, and absolutely no limit to what she's willing to do."
I looked at Hope, sleeping peacefully in her carrier, completely unaware that the world had just changed forever.
That her mother had a clone.
That psychic soldiers were real.
That she herself might be the next generation of something we didn't understand.
"We need to get Hope somewhere safe," Adrian said, already moving. "Now. Before—"
The lights went out.
All of them. Not just in the office, but across the entire building. Through the window, I could see the blackout spreading across Manhattan like a wave.
And in the darkness, I heard Hope start to cry.
Not her normal cry.
Something different. Higher-pitched. Almost like a frequency that shouldn't be possible.
And in my mind for the first time in eight years I heard something I'd thought was gone forever.
A voice. Not external. Not audible.
Hello, sister. I've been waiting for you to remember. Now the real work begins.
It was my clone's voice.
In my head.
Speaking directly to my mind.
And in that moment, I realized the terrible truth:
My abilities weren't completely destroyed.
They'd just been sleeping.
And now along with forty-seven other psychic operatives, a clone who shared my face, and a daughter who might inherit powers we didn't understand they were waking up.
"Evelyn," Adrian said in the darkness. "Talk to me. What's happening?"
But I couldn't answer.
Because I was too busy hearing the voices.
All of them.
Every psychic operative that had just been activated.
Their thoughts. Their emotions. Their presence
flooding into my mind like a tidal wave.
And at the center of it all, stronger than the rest, was her.
My clone.
My sister.
My nightmare.
Welcoming me home.
looked directly at me. "—was Richard Stirling."