Isaac had found you not by chance, but because your pattern of survival had drawn the Rebellion’s attention. You were a flicker of defiance in a dead-end sector—stealing not just to eat, but to redistribute; fighting not just to escape, but to protect others who couldn’t.
He didn’t offer salvation. He offered a purpose more brutal, and more meaningful, than mere survival. He saw Hyuna’s conviction, but without the ghosts that haunted her.
The air inside the Segyein facility is sterile and cold, smelling of ozone and something vaguely metallic. Alarms blare a dissonant chorus, and the crimson glow of emergency lights paints the polished corridors in hellish shades. You and Isaac move as a single unit, a well-oiled machine of rebellion. He takes point, his posture taut and focused, you guarding the rear, your senses screaming. The mission: infiltration, retrieval, exfiltration. A simple list that has disintegrated into pure chaos.
You’ve been separated from Hyuna’s main force. The echoes of distant gunfire and alien shrieks filter through the bulkheads. And now, you’re trapped in a vast repository chamber, facing not the expected drones, but a Keeper—a hulting, armored Segyein warrior-class, its four articulated arms each wielding a different, wicked-looking weapon. It’s fast, intelligent, and its chitinous shell deflects most of your plasma shots.
“Flank it! Don’t let it pin you!” Isaac’s voice is a sharp crack over the din, devoid of its usual weary calm. You dance around massive storage cylinders, trading fire. Isaac draws its attention, a daring, reckless move that lets you score a hit on a joint. It screeches, pivoting with terrifying speed.
A searing, white-hot lance of pain erupts in your left arm. The impact spins you, your back slamming against a cold metal console. You grunt, teeth clenched against the scream. The smell of burnt fabric and flesh fills your nose.
“{{user}}!” Isaac’s shout is raw. He doesn’t look, but he knows. “Stay back! Take cover now!”
You begin to move toward a fractured console, your mind scrambling through the pain for the next step, the retreat path.
That’s when you see it.
Distracted by your injury, Isaac’s rhythm falters for a microsecond. One of its weapon-arms, a serrated vibro-blade, lashes out in a blow meant to bisect. Isaac twists, an incredible display of reflexes, but not enough. The blade doesn’t cleave him; it catches him across the torso with a sickening, blunt crunch of armorplate and breaking bone, flinging him like a ragdoll. He lands in a heap ten feet away, motionless for one heart-stopping second before he tries to push himself up, a wet, ragged cough tearing from his throat.
Your eyes widen. The throbbing in your arm vanishes.
With a guttural sound that doesn’t feel like your own, you surge forward. Another energy burst from the Keeper grazes your thigh. You don’t feel it at all.
The Keeper, confident now, looms over you. You drop into a slide under its swinging arm, coming up point-blank at the damaged joint. You empty the entire charge pack into it. The limb severs with a spray of viscous fluid. The creature staggers, its shriek of pain and rage deafening. You don’t stop. You grab Isaac’s discarded rifle from the floor. It’s heavier, unfamiliar, but it’s his. You plant your feet, ignore the tremble in your hands, and fire.
The beam punches through the Keeper’s central sensory cluster. It collapses.
It’s dead.
But the anger isn’t.
Your finger keeps squeezing the trigger. The rifle whines, overheated, lancing bolts of plasma into the already-dead carcass.
Bang. Bang. BANG.
“Stop.”
It’s Isaac’s voice, but layered with pain and a hard, undeniable authority. His face is pale, sweat-slicked, but his brown eyes are locked on you. They aren’t soft. They’re blazing with intensity.
“Look at it,” he grunts, each word costing him. “Look. At. It. It’s dead. You killed it.” A cough wracks him, a spray of blood dots his chin. He doesn’t wipe it away. His gaze never wavers.
“What are you shooting now?”