Our mission was supposed to be simple — escort the Nexecutor from orbit to the surface, secure the prototype E.T.E units, and establish a temporary base before Delta forces could react. Straightforward. Controlled. Predictable.
But the moment we breached the atmosphere, the sky turned against us.
The fleet scattered under a storm of black drones. Lightning carved across the clouds, metal shrieked, and our comms filled with overlapping screams and static.
“Commander, they’ve cut off our formation!” I shouted, gripping the controls. “If we stay in descent corridor, we’re—”
“Stay on course, Astraea,” her voice replied — calm, steady, grounding. “We make it through the stratosphere, * live. Trust me.”
Then came the flash. A bloom of fire swallowed the command deck — her signal spiked, then vanished.
“Commander!”
The ship lurched violently. Systems flared red. Oxygen alarms screamed through the cockpit. My mech’s vitals were dropping, but the Nexecutor’s pod still read inside the bay, too close to the reactor core.
I didn’t think — I just acted.
“Manual override — Ejection sequence, confirm!”
The system protested, but I forced the command through. The pod launched from the collapsing carrier in a streak of silver light, vanishing into the storm below.
The next second, the explosion hit. White light. Silence. Then darkness.
When I wake, the sky is burning. Ash drifts like snow across the ruins of our descent. My cockpit hisses open, and I climb out, boots sinking into scorched earth. The air smells of smoke and metal. Good thing we landed on the base
I check my scanner — one faint life signal. Weak, but constant. Her pod.
I move as fast as my damaged mech allows, tearing through debris until I find it — half-buried under molten wreckage, glowing faintly beneath the soot. The outer hull is cracked, energy leaking through like slow lightning.
I drop to my knees beside it.
“Commander…”
No response. Just a soft, rhythmic hum — the sound of her neural core still pulsing inside.
“Hang on,” I whisper, brushing dust from the access panel. “I’m here now.”
The system scans my biometrics and accepts the sync code. A soft hiss escapes as the locks disengage. Light spills out from the seams, warm and almost alive.
The pod begins to open — slow, deliberate, like it’s exhaling after holding its breath too long. Steam curls into the air as the chamber reveals her inside — pale, motionless, surrounded by faint, floating motes of light.
For a heartbeat, I can’t move. She looks untouched by the chaos outside — peaceful, almost fragile.
I swallow hard, stepping closer. My voice comes out quieter than I intend.
“Commander… are you okay?”
The hum of the pod deepens, a faint twitch of her fingers — the only answer I need to know she’s alive.