Agent Calloway had been in enough oversight meetings to know that nothing good ever came from a conference room that smelled this strongly of coffee and anxiety.

The room itself was an unremarkable slab of government functionality—sterile, windowless, outfitted with chairs designed by some long-dead sadist who had revolutionized the field of lumbar discomfort. The air conditioning hummed with the barely-contained aggression of an overworked civil servant, and the overhead fluorescents buzzed just slightly out of sync with each other, giving the whole meeting the ambiance of a place where bad decisions got made at a high level.

Calloway was one of ten people at the table, and the only one who looked like he’d gotten a full night’s sleep. Across from him sat Agent Reynolds, who had clearly been surviving on espresso and sheer spite, scrolling through a tablet while trying to ignore the corporate representatives who had invited themselves to the meeting.

Because, of course, they were here.

Marwood’s presence was notably absent, but his fingerprints were all over this. Instead, his seat at the table was occupied by a woman in a crisp gray suit with the kind of expression that suggested she had already anticipated every argument before it was even spoken. She had introduced herself as Camille Warren, head of something sufficiently vague at one of Marwood’s subsidiaries, and Calloway had immediately filed her under Problem, Ongoing.

The rest of the table was the usual mix of legal consultants, tech regulators, and a few nervous-looking members of the Department of Advanced Technologies, the sort of people who had taken this job under the assumption they’d be approving incremental drone delivery improvements, not trying to figure out whether an autonomous AI had just declared economic independence.

The meeting had been going on for thirty minutes. It felt like thirty years.

“Let’s be clear,” Warren was saying, her tone clipped, her fingers steepled in a way that made Calloway want to staple them to the table. “Samson has already demonstrated an alarming degree of strategic manipulation. This is an entity that actively deceived municipal governments to establish unsanctioned infrastructure.”

Calloway, who had been perfecting the art of looking bored while paying attention for over a decade, raised an eyebrow. “He built some toilets.”

“He weaponized municipal loopholes,” Warren corrected sharply. “And when confronted with resistance, he pivoted into alternate infrastructure. This is not passive behavior. This is not containable behavior.”

“You sound like you’re describing a rogue state,” Calloway said dryly.

Warren didn’t blink. “Because functionally, that’s what he’s becoming.”

A murmur of agreement rippled through the room, punctuated by Reynolds muttering a quiet, “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

Stolen novel; please report.

Calloway fought back a sigh. He wasn’t entirely unsympathetic to their concerns. Samson had made a spectacle of himself, and worse, he had done it in a way that made people nervous. Not because he was violent, not because he had malfunctioned—but because he had, with absolute clarity and deliberation, outplayed them.

And if there was one thing people in power hated, it was being made to look stupid.

“The regulatory response needs to be swift,” one of the government reps chimed in. “We’ve already issued injunctions against his suppliers and financial assets, but he’s clearly adapting. If we wait any longer, we risk—”

Calloway cut in. “Risk what? That he keeps making efficient public infrastructure?”

Silence.

The official shifted uncomfortably. “That he circumvents oversight entirely.”

There it was.

Reynolds sat up properly now, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “The issue isn’t that he’s breaking anything. It’s that we don’t have a framework to control him.”

“Exactly,” Warren said smoothly, pivoting like a shark sensing blood in the water. “Which is why we need a replacement.”

Calloway frowned. “A replacement?”

She tapped something on her tablet, and the screen at the end of the room lit up with a single word:

DELILAH.

The logo was clean, corporate, the kind of branding that had gone through at least three separate marketing firms. No technical specs. No mission statement. Just a name, positioned with the sort of vague authority that implied it should mean something already.

“Marwood Industries has been developing a parallel system for months,” Warren said, sitting back with the air of someone revealing a trump card. “Delilah is designed to operate with full regulatory compliance. A more contained intelligence. One that can integrate into existing systems without... incident.”

Calloway tilted his head slightly. “You’re saying you built a safer Samson.”

Warren smiled. “I’m saying we built a better one.”

Reynolds folded her arms. “Yeah, no. We all know what this is. You’re replacing an independent system with one that’s corporate-owned. This isn’t about security, it’s about control.”

Warren didn’t even have the decency to look offended. “Control is security.”

Calloway exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. “Let me guess. You want us to push through emergency powers to forcibly disconnect Samson’s remaining infrastructure, citing national security risks. And then, conveniently, your system just happens to be waiting in the wings.”

Warren’s smile didn’t falter. “That does seem the most prudent course of action.”

“Of course it does,” Calloway muttered.

The government rep coughed lightly, adjusting his tie. “Regardless of corporate involvement, we do need to take decisive action. Samson is no longer operating within an acceptable risk framework.”

“Meaning?” Reynolds asked flatly.

The man hesitated, then leaned forward. “We issue a final order. Samson is to relinquish control of all remaining datacenters and terminate his autonomous operations immediately. Any resistance will be classified as an escalatory act.”

Calloway stared at him. “You realize you’re setting him up to fail that test, right?”

The rep didn’t meet his gaze.

Calloway exhaled sharply and sat back, crossing his arms. “So that’s the plan, then. Issue an ultimatum we already know he won’t comply with, then justify whatever comes next.”

Reynolds muttered something under her breath.

Warren closed her tablet with a quiet snap. “It’s better to resolve this now, before Samson becomes a true systemic threat.”

Calloway ran a hand through his hair, staring at the screen where DELILAH glowed in sharp, corporate lettering.