Chapter 71: Trigger Pull

The Academy's Judgment Arena hummed at 91.7 MHz. Combat resonance trapped between art deco pillars and quantum-reinforced walls. The space had been designed specifically for the Cold Blood Trial - a mix of ancient colosseum and modern execution ground. Enhancement dampeners in the walls prevented escape attempts while allowing full combat capabilities for the executioner.

Kasper's hands trembled as he checked his father's exoskeleton one final time. The private preparation room's mirror showed micro-expressions he couldn't quite control. Good thing Sean and Valerian couldn't see him now. The mask of cold fury he'd worn past them felt paper-thin in solitude.

His nanites kept cycling through unstable patterns, combat protocols unable to find harmony with his thundering pulse. The exoskeleton compensated, but even its inherited wisdom couldn't quite hide the tremors.

"Candidate De la Fuente." The announcement system carried precise frequencies. "Please proceed to the execution ground."

The walk felt endless. Each step measured in megahertz of doubt. The arena's quantum-glass dome let in morning light that painted everything in surgical clarity. In the observation booth above, he caught glimpses of familiar faces. Sean's street-sharp attention. Valerian's leader's concern. Maria's healer's dread.

The prisoner sat twenty meters away. Neural restraints kept him kneeling upright, but didn't hide the ATA tattoo on his neck. The same organization that had backed Sarah's betrayal. That had turned love into lies wrapped in trafficking's profits.

Kasper raised the standard-issue pistol. His enhanced senses mapped every detail with cruel precision. The way morning light caught chrome surfaces. The smell of gun oil and fear. The prisoner's eyes - somehow both defiant and resigned.

The first shot went wide.

His hands shook harder. Wrong. All wrong. His perfect aim scattered like broken frequencies.

The second shot struck dirt near the prisoner's knees.

"Candidate De la Fuente." The range officer's voice carried carefully neutral tones. "You may withdraw without penalty. The Association understands—"

"No." The word tasted like copper and pride.

In the observation booth, he heard Valerian shift forward. Caught Sean's sharp intake of breath. Their concern felt like acid on his skin.

The prisoner's eyes found his. And for a moment, all Kasper could see was Sarah. Her smile. Her betrayal. Her final moments when truth had demanded action.

His father's exoskeleton hummed - combat protocols engaging automatically. But this wasn't combat. This was...

This was justice. Or vengeance. The line had gotten so blurry lately.

Kasper moved forward. Ten meters now. The academy-issued pistol felt wrong in his hands. Too clean. Too precise. But anger... anger felt familiar.

Kasper's finger trembled on the trigger as his nanobots cycled through memories like bullet casings hitting concrete:

Sarah's scanner pulsing that too-perfect frequency in the med bay, her hands steady as she accessed classified files while pretending to heal him.

His father's voice cracking as he finally admitted the truth about Project Lazarus, about the experiments that had taken Javier from them.

Cross's cold smile as she talked about necessary sacrifices, about evolution through controlled violence.

The Blackwood estate's pristine floors painted red, Maria the maid's body arranged like a warning.

Zarif's masked face reflecting quantum light as he spoke of bigger games, of pieces in motion.

The ATA terrorist knelt before him, neural dampeners keeping him docile. But through his enhanced vision, Kasper saw other kneeling figures - all those who'd lied to him, betrayed him, used his trust as a weapon.

"Can terminate session if needed," the range officer's voice carried carefully measured concern. "The Association understands—"

"No."

Kasper moved closer, each step carrying the weight of shattered trust. His aim had always been perfect - Sarah had made sure of that during their training sessions, her medical expertise fine-tuning his neural ports for maximum accuracy. One more lie wrapped in gentle truth.

The magazine emptied in a symphony of controlled violence. Each shot carved from memories of betrayal - from his father's hesitation, from Sarah's perfect lies, from Cross's manipulation. The terrorist's chest blossomed red, abstract art painted with terminal intent.

He turned to the observation box where Headmistress Vega watched with her ever-present calm. Let her see what their games had forged. What happened when you took someone's trust and turned it into a blade.

Kasper met their gaze. Let them see what Sarah's death had forged. What Costa del Sol's cartels had created.

He turned to leave, combat systems leaving reality bent in his wake. But Headmistress Vega's quantum-enhanced voice caught him at the threshold.

"Mr. De la Fuente. Our counseling services are available if you need—"

"What do you know about Costa del Sol?" His voice carried frequencies that made nearby tech spark and die. "Their cartels. Their operations."

A silence stretched between them, measured in megahertz of understanding. Then:

"More than I should." Her tone held carefully measured warning. "And less than you'll need."

Kasper nodded once. His father's exoskeleton hummed with inherited violence as he walked away. Behind him, blood soaked into polish floors while assessment algorithms calculated his performance.

Some trials ended with certificates.

Others with confirmations.

And sometimes the coldest blood ran through veins that remembered warmer days.