Project Lull Ch. 04

Chapter 4 - Residual

This may be your only chance.

She was exhausted. Spent. The absence of the hum in her ear had cleared her thoughts, but it had also unmasked the effects it had been dampening. Her muscles ached. A thousand conflicting thoughts ricocheted chaotically through her like pinballs. She wanted to scream, to attack, to run. God, she just wanted to curl up in a corner and cry.

But none of that was an answer. None of it solved the problem. Work the problem.

Kari forced her thoughts into line. Collect the data first. Find the pattern later.

Question: Define what you want to know. Somehow, he'd hidden additional controls into the device beyond what should have been possible. The guardrails programmed in should have flagged any number of researchers and medical staff and quality control techs well before it could escalate to this level. She'd gone over them herself. If there were holes, they still shouldn't have allowed this. He'd buried it, then. I coded it myself, he'd said. She needed to find that code.

And then there was the question of what, exactly, he'd managed to do. What were the limits? What were the weak points. Just how much damage had he already done, and how much more could he do if this product was allowed to continue?

Data Collection. Her phone was in her left coat pocket, a voice recorder program up and running. She'd fought through the fog to adjust the settings as best as she could, allowing for maximum file size and making it a continuous recording, rather than voice-activated. When she'd left the cab and entered the elevator, she'd positioned herself so her hands (hopefully) wouldn't be in view of the security feeds and had started recording. It was a risk--a repeat of what she'd already tried with the recorder--and there were a million reasons it wouldn't work, even if he didn't discover it, but it was all she had.

Prediction. The unit itself lay on the desk between them, small and silent... but it wasn't the only one. Forty-nine other subjects were enrolled in the sandbox trial, and that didn't account for the spares, the bench rigs, the engineering units... This wouldn't end here.

Controlled Variables. She had so many questions--so many unknowns. But, if she walked out now, she was inviting the possibility of even more. He sat in front of her, shoulders uncharacteristically bent, his expression wary and unsure, and she didn't trust it. She couldn't. He had full access to the project... the data. He couldn't erase it all (that, in itself, would be damning), but he could bury and obfuscate. He could throw the weight of all his money and lawyers against her broken memory and handfuls of notes and a bad recording on a personal device. Her best chance was here. Right now. Before whatever genuine bit of regret or guilt or... whatever this was... faded.

So she paused, leaving her coat only half-buttoned, and lowered herself into the chair opposite him. "I'm not leaving." She folded her hands in her lap to hide the shaking.

He stared at her, uncomprehending. "You're not," he said uncertainly. She couldn't read the expression in his eyes. "... Why?"

She chose her words carefully. "Because it's my job," she said, finally. "I need to know--" she stopped abruptly as, across the desk, Julien Cole picked up the earpiece and turned it over once in his fingers. He pulled a slim tablet toward him with his other hand, and her stomach turned uneasily. "What are you doing?"

"Checking the log." His gaze was fixed on the tablet. His shirt was still open, hair disordered, and the light from the screen made his face seem to glow. "I find I'd like to know something, as well."

He's a monster, she thought, and hated that he didn't look it.

His thumb traced something on the screen, searching. She knew exactly when he found it. His brow furrowed, his mouth pressing into a thin, unhappy line.

"Saturday," he said, before she could ask again. "October 10."

Her stomach gave another lurch as her own neat handwriting rose, unbidden, in her mind... careful notes tucked into her bedside table.

===== SATURDAY ========================================= 10/10/2026 ======

PROTOCOL DAY 11 | DEV STATE: FULL_CAL 100% at rise (06:04). Unit docked overnight (docking test). No notices. FW/app unchanged.

=========================================================================

SYMPTOM LOG

=========================================================================

Her stomach lurched again. Her thoughts spun, pulling together the details, connecting them mentally while he did the same with the data in front of him. No. Don't. Please.

Not wanting something to be true doesn't make it so.

"The unit was charging," he continued. If he noticed her reaction, he didn't show it. He seemed completely fixated on the screen. "An audio signal and trigger phase would have been impossible."

She said nothing. He can't know. He can't, he can't, he--"

"You told me you woke up you're your hands between your thighs."

"You can't--" her voice was strangled. "I didn't--"

He held up a hand to stop her, still not looking up. "It was under effect, that Sunday night." He said it so casually, even a little tersely, like he was annoyed by the interruption. "You were told to forget. At the time, I dismissed it. Maybe a surfacing memory that acted like a dream. That's what I'd suggested you think, if it happened."

=========================================================================

SYMPTOM LOG

=========================================================================

05:38 SEV 3/5 [H: N] woke physically aroused, hand between thighs; unit docked all night. Vague dream, no detail. Settled by ~05:55.

=========================================================================

"It was." she said, hating the nagging voice in her head that insisted she didn't know that--couldn't know that. It was why she'd logged the incident in the first place.

"No," He set the tablet down very carefully, his gaze locking on hers. "That's the thing. I don't think it was. And it isn't the only one."

No. No, no, no. Her careful plan--it shattered. Fear, barely muffled under the duty and professionalism that had made her stay, bubbled up, scattering her thoughts like leaves in a strong breeze. She didn't want to hear any more. She didn't want the details. She didn't want to hear what she already knew was coming next.

"Yesterday, in your office," he said quietly, and she closed her eyes, as if that might block out his voice. All it did was bring her own notes vividly, painfully, to mind.

========================================================================

14:36 SEV 3/5 [W: N!] sudden pelvic warmth/pressure with flushing; HR/resp up. No identifiable precipitant (seated, email). ~22 min, spontaneous resolution. Detail: test sheet T-2.

=======================================================================

"You had the earpiece with you, but you weren't wearing it. And you weren't asleep. The biometrics prove that."

Please. No.

"Your heartrate went from 64bpm to 92bpm, but your oxygen levels are too steady. You weren't working out. You were somewhere, still. Once again, there was no outside trigger."

She opened her eyes and found his gaze already fixed on hers. She begged, silently, for him to stop there. He didn't. "That was a learned response. That was you, Kari."

"It-" Don't guess. Let the pattern surface. She ignored her own voice. "It's just an echo. Audio stimuli habituates. It fades."

"Perhaps." He pushed back his chair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, fingers laced together in front of him as he worked the same problem she was. "The device trains a pathway, but all of the work is done by the unit. Remove that and nothing should persist. Once it's out, you're yourself. That was always the design."

"It will attenuate."

"Maybe," he said. "Have there been any unexplained dips in energy? Any persisting lethargy or loss of focus?"

He stood up and stepped around the desk, the motion smooth and sudden, and she scrambled up to her feet so fast her own chair made a protesting shriek as it scraped against the floor. Still facing him, eyes widening. "Don't."

"Maybe there's nothing there and you're free," he said, ignoring her protest. "I meant it, you know. Letting you go. I think I may have wanted to be punished."

"Whatever you're thinking, just... stop a minute."

Without thinking, her hand slid into her pocket and clutched at her still-recording phone, fingers closing tightly around it like it might somehow stop all of this. She tried to keep the distance between them.

"I need to know."

"Julien," her voice cracked, desperation breaking through the last of her attempt at scientific calm. "Julien, don't you dare--"

"Quiet," he said.

There was no hum in her ear.

That was the last, clear thought in her head before the world around her went soft. The transmitter was on the desk, next to the tablet. There was no rising, pulsing buzz chasing the thoughts away, like a swarm of bees. It was simply quiet... and the thoughts scattered anyway.

Her limbs were heavy. Fear flooded through her and her stomach soured with it, but it was distant. Muffled. Even as her anxiety spiked, her breathing slowed. Her fingers released the phone and slid out of her pocket, dropping limply at her side.

"No," she said, and her voice came out thick and slow. "No, this isn't--you can't--"

A warm, sweet, terrible quiet settled over her like a blanket, and what was left of her pounded on the glass, unable to get through.

Julien stood in front of her, eyes fixed on hers. "My God," he whispered.

He was pale. For the first time since she'd met him, he was visibly shaken. He looked like someone who had lit a house on fire and only now realized it was his own. "I didn't expect--I swear, this wasn't supposed to be possible."

Then fix it, she wanted to scream. Let me go. Fix it."

"I don't know how to fix it," he said softly, as if he'd heard her thoughts.

They stood there for a long moment in the silence. She tried to disengage her breathing from his, but the thrumming in her head--entirely of her mind's creation--pulsed like a heartbeat and she'd be right back where she started, eyes staring into his, watching him struggle with a crisis of his own making.

At first, she watched as his mind raced. She tried to follow--tried to identify the scattered data points and connect them together--but they wouldn't stay still. He outpaced her, unburdened by the haze he'd trapped her in, and he thought.

Slowly, the confusion and unease faded and she watched his face order itself into... something else. Through the fog that gripped her, she watched him decide. He straightened. His hand, which had frozen in front of his mouth like he'd gone to cover it in horror and then paused, lowered. The monster returned, patient. Dark. Hungry.

She tried to move. She only swayed.

When he spoke, his voice was soft. Gentle, even. But his eyes--

"Sit down, Kari."

She sat. She felt the warmth of him against her shoulder as she brushed past, returning to the chair and lowering herself into it. The leather creaked softly with her weight. She folded her hands in her lap.

Her mind screamed. Her body stilled and waited.

Her eyes stayed fixed on him as he circled the desk and retrieved the second chair. He pulled it around and set it down in front of her, then sat. He was so close that their knees almost touched and, for a long time, he only looked at her.

Please, she thought. Please, stop here. The hints of conscience she'd seen were gone, replaced by something unreadable, but she mentally pleaded for them to resurface. To continue with the decision he'd made earlier.

"I'm going to ask you some questions," he said, and beneath the softness of his voice, there was something so cold that it froze away that last bit of hope, shattering it. "You're going to answer them honestly."

No. You don't get that. You owe me the answers. You--

"Tell me what happened yesterday, at 2:36."

Her mouth opened. She fought it almost by instinct, clenching her jaw, and the ache arrived. Like the hum, it came from within her even without the device, seeping into her chest. She wanted to weep.

"My.... heart rate rose," she said, finally, through her teeth.

"Yes," he said, softly. "What else?"

"I felt... warm."

"Good." Something flushed through her at the word, painfully sweet. She wanted to scream. "Tell me more about that."

"I--I don't--"

"What kind of warmth, Kari? What changed?"

"I... pelvic. Pelvic warmth. Flushing." She grasped for the wording she'd laid out in her trial notes. Cool. Professional.

"You were aroused."

She swallowed a sound that might have been a whimper. "Yes."

"What were you doing?"

"R-reading. Emails. For work."

"And was there anything in those emails? Is there someone sending you things to make you blush?" There was something odd in his tone. Sharp.

"No. No, it was... there was nothing."

"Mm." His eyes bored into her. She felt like she was drowning in them. "What did you do?"

"I meditated. I--breathed."

"Did you like it?"

"I--what?" She blinked, confused. Each answer she gave sent shivers through her, adding heat to her belly and tying her further into place. It was harder and harder to resist--to remember why she wanted, no, needed, to fight. But that question wasn't what she'd expected and her mind stumbled over it, momentarily lost.

"Did you like how you felt, that warmth between your legs?" His voice was low. "Your skin sparking, waiting to be touched? Did you like it?"

"I--" her voice was small and unsure. She knew... she knew she shouldn't answer, and yet she couldn't seem to remember why. His words sparked through her like lightening, making her remember and mixing memory with the current waves of pleasure that ebbed and flowed with every command. "Yes."

"And when you came on the bridge, he said softly. "Did you want to?"

"... no."

"Is that the whole truth?"

She dug her nails into the leather seat, trying to stop the word. She couldn't. "No."

"Tell me."

"I--I wanted it to stop."

"Did you like it?"

"I--I don't--" She closed her eyes, but she could still see his in her mind, offering her no quarter. "I don't know."

There was another long silence as he thought. He watched her, so close she could feel the softest edge of each breath.

"Why did you sit down," he asked, finally. "When I turned off the unit and told you that you could go."

"Because of the phone." It was out before she could stop it.

He blinked. "What phone?"

Stop. Stop, please stop. Don't tell him. "In my pocket.

His gaze dropped to her hands and then slid to her coat pocket, finally noticing the weight slightly distorting the shape of it. She sat still, frozen in this terrible prison, as he reached over and slipped his hand down, gently, into her pocket and pulled out the device. The display was dimmed, a translucent lock symbol obscuring the app that still ran in the background. From where she sat, she could still see the red counter ticking along, marking the recording time. Julien stared at it... and then chuckled, low and dark. Her stomach turned.

"What else," he asked.

"What?"

"Why else did you stay?"

"--I needed... I needed more data."

He frowned as she struggled through her answer, like he was looking for something she hadn't yet given him. "And?"

Half of her mind scrambled to find the answer he was seeking while the other half tried desperately to hold anything she could inside. "I... can't trust myself. The data--I can't explain--"

He turned the phone over in his hands. "More data." The words were short and she felt a chill run through her, despite the growing heat of her skin. "That would be helpful, yes."

He set the phone down on his desk, then turned back to her, eyes dark. "Stand up. Take off your coat."

She stood. In the back of her mind, the part of her still fighting shrank, exhausted and despairing. Again. He was going to do this again and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

Her coat slid to the ground.

"Blouse and skirt. Remove them."

Piece by piece, they fell in a pile at her feet until she stood there in her underwear, swaying unsteadily, skin pebbling in the cool office air.

Julien sat with his hands loosely clasped and did not touch her. He didn't move at all. He didn't speak again until she stopped, her palms falling to rest gently at her sides.

"Now the rest. All of it."

It'll attenuate, her mind whispered, desperately. It's just a remnant. Fight it. Fight it. Fight it. You're the only one in your head. Fight.

She felt the clasp of her bra release and only then knew that her hands were moving, smooth and compliant. The straps drooped loosely against her arms. When her hands moved down, fingers hooking in the waistband of her underwear, the bra tumbled down and hung from her wrists. She slid the material down her thighs until there was nothing keeping the elastic in place, and then let both garments drop to the floor.

She stepped out of them and straightened, shivering. Waiting.

"Now," he said quietly. "Touch yourself. Touch yourself and tell me what you're thinking, as you think it. Only the truth."

"No," she didn't even recognize her own voice. "No, please."

"Touch yourself like you want to be touched," he said, voice sharp.

She shuddered as her fingers moved slowly across her stomach, past the soft dip of her navel. The pads of her fingers dipped into her short hair. It was matted with the aftermath of what he'd already done to her and, when she realized what was happening, a sound escaped her that was almost a laugh. She was soaked.

It shouldn't have been possible. It wasn't fair. She was tired and sore and angry and terrified, and her body responded immediately as her fingers dipped between her legs. Another shudder trembled through her and she felt a wet trickle run down her wrist.

"Talk," he said.

"This... this isn't possible." Her voice shook. Her fingers began a slow, steady rhythm. In. Out. In. Out. In. Curl. Out. In. She closed her eyes.

It didn't help.

"You're a monster. This... this isn't real. It--God... it feels--"

"Go on."

"I hate this," she said, her breath hitching as she fought to get control of her tongue. Her fingers continued, relentless, and the pleasure climbed her spine. Her knees almost buckled. "I hate how--God, it's too much." A finger curled again, brushing a spot she wasn't sure she'd ever actually touched before, and she whimpered. "It's so good." No, no, no. "I don't want--" she swallowed. Her mouth was impossibly dry. "Don't---stop--"

"Your eyes are closed."

"I--"

"What are you picturing?"

Her thumb joined in, circling against her clit, and she shook with the rising intensity. Open your eyes, she thought. She didn't.

"I--"

"What are you picturing?"

"My face," she gasped. She hadn't fully realized it until she actually said it. "My face in the glass while you--" Her voice cracked again, desperate. "I can't stop. The device--"

"There is no device."

"I--"

"There's no device. Just you."

"I know," the words wrenched out of her. She slid a third finger into herself, the pace increasing, and her left hand had to grab the back of the abandoned chair to keep herself upright.

"And it's just you, while you touch yourself?"

She couldn't speak. Her breath came in short, quiet moans, and her fingers played her like an instrument she'd forgotten she knew.

"Who is touching you?" Julien demanded.

The orgasm hit her like a wall.

She cried out, a wild, raw sound that tore up her throat, and her hips jerked against her own hand as the pleasure rolled through her in long, white breakers. Her legs gave, and she was falling.

He caught her.

She didn't know when he'd moved, but his hands gently grasped her elbows and guided her down the rest of the way until she was kneeling on the wooden floor, her right palm still pressed between her legs. His hands withdrew and she slumped the rest of the way, forehead nearly touched the floor, as she shuddered and sobbed and came so hard that she saw stars.

"Who," he said again, very softly.

Kari didn't decide to say it. "You." It was a whisper. "Julien, you." It was horrible and utterly true. She didn't know if it was something he'd planted in her or if some terrible, traitorous part of her had done it, but in her mind, at the end, there had been nothing but him.

She lay there, curled around herself, and listened to him breathe.

"Wake," he said, after a long time.

The hush lifted. It went out of her like water from a tipped glass and the world returned in pieces. The rain still tapped relentlessly on the windows. The air was cool on her bare skin. Muscles she didn't even know she had ached. She lay very still. She didn't trust her limbs. She didn't trust anything.

When she finally dared to lift her head, he was standing at the window with his back to her, looking out at the lights of the city.

"Get dressed," he said, not turning. "Go home."

She stared, uncomprehending.

"I'll call you tomorrow." His voice was hoarse. Take the unit, if you want. Or don't. I won't stop you."

Kari pulled on her clothes with fingers that trembled. She buttoned her blouse wrong and did it again. She pulled on her coat and retrieved her phone from the desk where he'd left it, recording still ticking away. She let it fall into her pocket. She hesitated, and then picked the earpiece up off the desk as well, turning it over in her palm. It weighed nothing at all. She dropped it into the pocket with her phone.

He didn't turn as she gathered her things, or when the her heels clicked on the floor. When she reached the door of the office, Kari paused, one hand on the frame.

"Julien."

He continued to watch something off in the distance.

"I will destroy you," she said.

"I know," he told the window.

In the lobby, Teo called her another cab. His eyes questioned, but she didn't trust herself to speak. She didn't know what to say. The second cab smelled of pine freshener and burnt coffee. Kari sat in the back with her coat belted and buttoned to her throat and leaned against the cold window. She counted streetlights as they passed. It was better than thinking about anything else.

Somewhere around the bridge, she took out the phone.

The glare of the screen felt too bright. When she thumbed away the screen lock, the app showed a single running timer in small, red font: 1:21:46. 47. 48. Nearly an hour and a half. The whole of it would be there. The rain. The sex. Julien's confession. Her near escape. Him saying I need to know and, then, Quiet.

She watched the seconds tick by and she sat very still.

She had it. Everything. A confession of intent, the device, the damning record of what he'd done. It wasn't flawless, but it could be enough. Enough to put him in a cell. Enough, perhaps, to save the next woman who found a gray earpiece in a box on her desk.

Her thumb hovered over the stop button.

She knew, cold and crystalline and sure, what would happen if she ever pressed play.

His voice, soft and patient, saying a word she couldn't hear without answering.

It's the only proof I have, she thought, my smoking gun... and it's aimed at my head.

The ebony-skinned, middle-aged woman behind the wheel must have noticed something, because her voice cut through the silence, drawing Kari back to the present. "You good, kid?"

"Fine," she said, this time in a voice entirely hers. "Just tired."

She stopped recording. She held the phone in both hands and watched the river slide away under the bridge.

She would need someone else to listen. Someone who could be trusted not to be a trigger or a thief. Someone to sit in a room with her and press the button and who would be there when she woke. Someone with the strength to do what she couldn't.

She didn't know a single person like that.

She thought of a name, then, unbidden and unwelcome. It was not the name of anyone who could help her.

Julien.

She let the phone screen go dark and held on until the cab turned onto her street.