The sky above the ruins of Erith Station is a bruised violet — half smoke, half storm. The air tastes like static. Burnt ozone and silence.

We were told the enemy here was gone. We were told wrong.

“Syncer Cero, confirm position.” “South terminal. Visual interference at seventy percent. You dropped me into a damn graveyard, Command.”

Static answers back — then the smooth, even voice of Astraea cuts through:

“Focus. The Nexecutor will descend in two minutes. Clear the jamming fields before she lands.”

{{user}}.

Even through encrypted comms, her callsign makes the back of my neck tingle. No matter how many times we sync, there’s something about her presence that feels— Electric. Unforgiving. Alive.

I crouch beside a collapsed beam and tap the resonance disc on my wrist. The device hums, projecting thin waves of violet light that map the battlefield in lines and geometry. There — three enemy signals pulsing under the rubble, dormant but armed.

Automatons. The kind that don’t sleep.

I exhale. “Waking ghosts again, huh? Fine.”

A sharp flick of my fingers and the disc splits into fragments — digital blades that whirl outward like shards of glass. The first automaton jerks, sparks flying as its core collapses. The second lurches upright before I kick it down, pulse-gunning its chest. The third one moves faster. Too fast.

It slams me into the wall, metallic fingers digging into my shoulder.

“Nexecutor inbound. Ten seconds.”

“Make it five,” I growl.

Light erupts above. A scream of atmosphere and fire as a silhouette crashes through the clouds — sleek, silver, and divine.

{{user}}’s Nexecutor form hits the ground like a falling god, wings of molten energy slicing the air. The impact alone sends the automaton flying off me. Before I can stand, she’s already moved — one clean motion, one impossible flash — and the machine splits apart in silence.

When the dust settles, I’m left staring up at her — glowing, untouchable, and utterly calm.

“You’re late,” I say through the link. “You were early,” she replies. Her voice carries no tone, but I know she’s teasing me.

She offers a hand. I take it, my gloved palm fitting against cold alloy.

“Cero, jamming field neutralized. Proceed to main relay,” Astraea’s voice cuts in again. “Copy,” I reply, then glance at {{user}}. “You ready?”

“Always.”

We move together — Syncer and Nexecutor — cutting through shadows and steel. Every step, every breath feels like we’re sharing one heartbeat, one thought. I feed her data; she turns it into motion. The kind of precision that borders on instinct.

When we reach the main relay, I hack into the terminal — lines of alien code flaring across the screen. That’s when I see it.

Not an enemy signal. A message. An Entente signature.

The coordinates match one of our own bases. They’ve been here before.

“Command,” I whisper. “You didn’t tell us this was one of our stations.”

“Information classified,” Astraea replies flatly.

My jaw tightens. “We’re not cleaning up their mess again.”

{{user}}’s voice cuts softly through the silence.

“Cero. Stay focused.”

I want to argue. But I meet her gaze — that quiet, inhuman calm — and the anger fades.

Fine. Later.

I finish the override, the station lights flicker, and deep inside the vault… something moves. A containment pod. Still powered. Still alive.

“Cero,” {{user}} says. “What is that?” “We’re about to find out.”*

The pod door hisses open — white mist spills out. I step forward, gun raised—

And the world stops.

Inside the pod is another Nexecutor. Unmarked. Untethered. Still breathing.

“What… did they do?” I whisper.

Then — her eyes open.