Chapter 7 Jurisdiction 

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 Malcolm's office occupied the top floor of the operations building, with floor-to-ceiling windows that overlooked the compound's training grounds. Eric had been here dozens of times for commendations, mission briefings, performance reviews. He'd always associated this space with success, with purpose.

Now it felt like standing before a tribunal.

Malcolm sat behind his massive oak desk, fingers steepled beneath his chin as Eric finished his presentation. The operative commander was in his fifties, built like a brick wall despite the silver threading through his hair. His face remained impassive throughout Eric's explanation, revealing nothing.

"That's quite a theory, Vaughn," Malcolm said finally, leaning back in his chair. "Based on illegally obtained evidence."

"The DNA evidence is solid," Eric pressed. "Dr. Chen can verify…."

"Dr. Chen accessed federal databases without authorization, ran classified tissue analysis without clearance, and violated about six different protocols in the process." Malcolm's tone was flat, matter-of-fact. "Anything she found is inadmissible and could be used against her."

"Sir, with respect, we're not in the courtroom." Eric stepped forward slightly. "We're talking about discovering that our targets were human beings. Soldiers. Our own people."

"Were being the operative word." Malcolm rose from his desk, moving to the window. "Past tense. Whatever they were before mutation is irrelevant to what they are now."

Eric felt heat rising in his chest. "Sir, these people have families…."

"These mutants," Malcolm interrupted, turning to face him, "are violent, unstable, and dangerous to civilian populations. That's why we hunt them. That's why the enhancement program exists." He gestured at Eric. "Your modifications, the weapons, the training, all of it designed to neutralize a threat."

"A threat we might be creating," Eric said.

"Might. Based on speculation and illegally obtained data." Malcolm crossed his arms. "Even if your theory is correct and that's significant if it doesn't change the operational reality. These creatures attack people. They can't be reasoned with, can't be rehabilitated. Whether they started as humans or lab rats, the end result is the same."

"The end result is seventeen families who don't know what happened to their loved ones," Eric said, his voice rising despite himself. "Parents who think their kids died serving their country. Wives waiting for husbands who are never coming home. Children who….."

"I understand the emotional weight of this, Vaughn. I do." Malcolm's expression softened marginally. "But emotion doesn't change tactical necessity. These mutants are a clear and present danger. Our job is to eliminate that danger."

"Our job," Eric said carefully, "was supposed to be protecting people. Not executing them."

"We are protecting people. Civilians who would be torn apart if we didn't intervene." Malcolm moved back to his desk, placing both hands flat on its surface. "I've read your file, Eric. Perfect mission record. Highest success rate in the program. You're a model operative because you don't let sentiment interfere with duty."

"This isn't sentiment. This is evidence of a  cover-up…."

"It's evidence that someone made hard choices in the interest of national security." Malcolm's voice took an edge. "Choices that might look ugly up close but serve a greater purpose we're not cleared to fully understand."

Eric's jaw tightened. "Sir, are you saying you already knew about this?"

Malcolm met his gaze steadily. "I'm saying that above a certain clearance level, operations become complicated. Compartmentalized. Need-to-know basis for good reason."

"So you did know," Eric said, the realization settling like lead in his gut.

"I know that enhanced soldiers cost billions to develop. I know that threat assessment and response requires resources most civilians can't comprehend. I know that sometimes the machinery of protection has sharp edges." Malcolm straightened. "And I know that field operatives questioning command decisions is a fast track to operational chaos."

"Field operatives executing people who used to be soldiers is a fast track to war crimes," Eric shot back.

The temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. Malcolm's jaw tightened, and for a moment Eric thought he'd gone too far. Then the commander sighed, some of the hardness leaving his expression.

"Vaughn, you're young. Idealistic. Those are admirable qualities in moderation." Malcolm moved around the desk, approaching him. "But this work requires pragmatism. The ability to do difficult things for important reasons."

"However," the commander continued, "you've raised questions that deserve official inquiry. Not because I think you're right, but because the chain of command exists for a reason." He pulled out a tablet, making notes. "I'll bring your concerns to the Executive Director. Let him decide if it warrants a presentation to the board."

"And then what?" Eric asked.

"And then you wait for official guidance." Malcolm looked up, his expression hardening again. "Which means you do not conduct any further unauthorized investigations. You do not access classified materials. You do not discuss this with other operatives or civilians. You follow orders and wait for the system to work."

Eric stood for a moment, looking at the man who commanded their operations, who sent them into the field, who knew or at least suspected, the truth and chose convenience over conscience.

"I'll wait for your report to the Executive Director, sir," Eric said finally.

"Good. That's a smart play." Malcolm's expression was unreadable. "Stick to your missions. Follow protocol. Let the system handle it."

Eric nodded and left, the door closing behind him with a finality that felt like a coffin lid. He walked down the corridor past administrative assistants and junior operatives going about their normal routines, his mind churning.

Malcolm had told him to wait. To trust the chain of command. To not act outside his authority, but he couldn't just sit around doing nothing.

His phone buzzed as he stepped outside. A text from Becca: Need to talk. Found something else. Urgent.

Eric stared at the message. Malcolm's warning was clear; step out of line again and face the consequences. Career over. Possibly freedom over. Maybe even his  life would be over, if the corruption went deep enough.

He typed a response to Becca: On my way.

Malcolm had told him not to act outside his authority. Had drawn a clear line and dared him to cross it but there were some lines that once seen, couldn't be ignored. Some truths, once known, demanded action regardless of authority or consequences.

Eric pocketed his phone and headed toward the research wing.

He was going to cross that line. And was going to be prepared for whatever comes next.