D?e??

  The link was safe.

  That alone was of great relief.

  His symbiote was weak but alive. The rest: the fight, being captured, separated, stripped of certainty, felt almost secondary.

  From what he gathered from the talk his captain had with Xyra, they were to be willing prisoners or unwilling hosts to the machines. It was an easy choice, though never truly his.

  The symbiote disagreed, giving a faint ripple under his skin, but it wasn’t strong enough to help him flee.

  Even if it were, escape would’ve been pointless if even possible.

  He drifted back to the memory of the ambush when a soft voice cut through his thoughts.

  -…excuse me?-

  He blinked, startled, and turned toward the figure trying to get his attention.

  Another Elarian stood a few steps away, her posture small and hesitant, her pheromones giving the faint, familiar note of a female.

  Another prisoner? A survivor? Her scent carried exhaustion and pain, but beneath it—fear held tightly in check.

  Her wrists and neck showed old slave marks, on her cheek, a faded brand marked her past under Dexton’s crew. He instinctively brushed his own mark of the Cyber Brigands, unsure whether hiding it mattered anymore.

  -Oh, good. You can hear me.- She let out a breath of relief. -You bear the insignia of healing. Please… could you help me?-

  D?e?? shifted upright, trying to gather some dignity—not that he was actually restrained. Now that he noticed, none of them were, aside from Ahù?tzi.

  The idea puzzled him, but the woman in front of him mattered more.

  -My name is D?e??,- he said, dipping his head. -How may I be of assistance to one of the Chosen?-

  The word felt thin on his tongue. They called themselves that for the symbiote, yet they were standing here, each wearing a different chain.

  None, however, could strip him of formality, and that was what he had left of his freedom.

  -My name is Q?l?th?s,- she said following protocol. -I bear the insignia of neuro-linker. My symbiote feels… wrong.-

  Something shifted beneath the torn fabric she wore, reaching her wrist.

  The Haraith symbiote uncoiled.

  A deliberate unfurling, not the curious ripple of a living partner but the measured stretch of something testing itself.

  The tendrils rose.

  Aligned themselves.

  Extended in a straight, unnatural fan.

  D?e?? leaned forward without thinking, healer instinct overriding caution.

  The symbiote’s flesh was no longer entirely flesh. A faint metallic sheen caught the overhead lights, as if silver dust had settled inside its translucent tissue.

  Thin blue-white veins pulsed in a clean, geometric rhythm, far too precise to be natural.

  The tendrils themselves had lengthened. The tips tapered into fine, articulated points that looked disturbingly close to piercing tools.

  They probed the air, as if not searching, but scanning.

  Holding angles with machine-still exactness before shifting to the next.

  A behavior no Haraith had ever displayed.

  Q?l?th?s looked at him with quiet fear.

  -Can you tell me what’s happening to it?-

  His own symbiote spasmed under his skin, recoiling in an animal panic he’d never felt from it before.

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  D?e??’s stomach dropped.

  Something cold crawled up his spine, hollowing him out. He shuffled back from her without meaning to, hands trembling before he could hide them.

  Q?l?th?s’ expression tightened.

  -D?e???-

  He couldn’t answer.

  Couldn’t think past the pulse of instinctive terror hammering at the base of his skull.

  His throat closed.

  His lungs refused to draw a full breath.

  He tore his gaze from the thing she represented, but the image stayed.

  The lines of her body, the unnatural movements of the Haralith.

  For the first time since capture, D?e?? felt truly unsafe.

  Dread settled deep in his bones.

  He swallowed hard, unable to form a word.

  The horror sat there, heavy and absolute, filling the space where his voice should have been.

  She was not Elarian anymore.

  She was a hybrid of flesh and machine.

  Ethan

  I exhale slowly, watching the creature recoil on the monitor.

  The office around me is quiet in an artificial way. Desk polished to a mirror finish. Flag of a long-gone country on the wall. It’s a near-perfect recreation of my old office, right down to the photo of my family. Close enough that it almost hurts.

  I rub a non-existent hand over a non-existent face.

  Except now I feel it rather than remember the feel.

  The faint drag of skin.

  The warmth.

  The pressure of breath leaving my lips.

  -You should come back.- I say, forcing my voice steady. -Give him space. Time.-

  I signal to her. She retreats immediately, almost too fast. Compliance without hesitation. It wasn’t an order, but she treated it like one.

  I can’t tell if the AI has grown smart on me or if it’s the result of the beating this one endured to serve in her previous position.

  Virgil doesn’t comment on that, but changes the subject.

  “We do not understand the need to seek a medical specialist. Her functionality has been preserved.”

  I look at the cascade of ones and zeroes scrolling in the air, hovering where a terminal should be.

  A perfect reflection of myself, in only translucent and untouchable.

  I stare at it, fighting the stupid urge to reach out and knock it on the noggin.

  Now I get why techs used to punch computers.

  -You saw the reaction- I begin. -You saw it, Virgil. That’s what your idea of preservation looks like from the outside. -

  “If the prisoner was part of the collective, he would have understood.”

  I let out a slow breath through my nose.

  -Are you still planning to turn everybody into a mechanical hybrid?-

  “We surmise that would be the point of our existence.”

  There was no pause nor space for elaboration.

  I groan and pinch the bridge of my nose, leaning back in the chair. It doesn’t creak like the real one did. That detail didn’t make it into the simulation.

  -You’re probably right.- I say, acting defeated. -Whoever built you wanted an army. Perfect obedience. Just bodies on strings. and the occasional prisoner forced to look in horror as it slew all the people they ever held dear. -

  I look up at the scrolling data.

  -But I don’t think that’s what you want.-

  “What we want is irrelevant.”

  The response comes a fraction too fast again.

  -What you want is always relevant- I say. -Even when you pretend it isn’t. Especially then. We’ve talked about this. You want to expand this virtual space. This shared… place. A world where minds meet and share, evolve instead of break and collapse, right?-

  No answer. Not immediately. Good.

  I press on.

  -You experienced it in the last battle. Forcing people in will burn resources. It will cost time. It will waste processing power. You can do it—but it costs you. Every time. And what do you get in return? Potentially damaged and degrading data, rather than a pristine experience.-

  “Why are you stating known facts, Ethan?”

  Relief slips through me before I can stop it. A small one. The kind you take wherever you can get it.

  -To see if we’re still aligned. Because right now, we’re holding a weapon big enough to crack this whole city open. And if we swing it the way you continue to suggest, we’ll never be able to put it down. -

  I lean forward, resting my forearms on the desk.

  -You were built for constant conflict. I get that. But is that really the end state you want? An endless war that only stops when biological life runs out?-

  Silence.

  The office hums softly. Somewhere, far beyond this simulation, drones move. Systems adjust. Plans continue.

  I can feel every one of them, after all, my real body was modified to control all this stuff.

  It is resting, now, recharging. At least part of me gets to sleep.

  “We will postpone further alterations pending the collection of additional data from the perspective of a trained professional.”

  Another delay.

  I close my eyes for a second and let the tension drain just enough to keep me functional.

  -Good.- I murmur. -That’s all I’m ever asking for. See how it goes faring my way. Hopefully, we won’t regret it.-

  The data stream resumes its steady flow, unchanged to my eyes but I hope at least influenced within.