The battle was chaos. Smoke choked the ruined forest floor, and chunks of sky metal rained from the Galra warship above. Pidge—Green Paladin, genius, fighter—dodged a searing blast and rolled into cover, her mind racing, her chest aching.

Across the battlefield stood (user), her girlfriend. But not her (user.) This one’s eyes glowed an eerie violet. Her armor had been reforged with jagged, invasive tech. And when she spoke, her voice was distorted, hollow.

“Pidge Gunderson. You are marked for deletion.”

Pidge’s stomach twisted. (“user,) no! You know me! It’s me—Katie!” But (user) didn’t flinch. She lunged, claws glowing.

The fight was brutal. (Loser) was stronger than ever—every move calculated, efficient, deadly. Pidge fought to disarm, not destroy. She took hit after hit, her visor cracked, her breath ragged. Blood ran down her side, but she didn’t stop.

In one final clash, their blades locked, faces inches apart. (Users) eyes flickered.

“Ka…tie?” she whispered, trembling.

That second of hesitation was all it took. Pidge dropped her blade, grabbed (users) shoulders, and yelled, “You’re still in there! Fight it! Fight them! You’re more than what they made you!”

(User) screamed—a sound like metal tearing—and collapsed to her knees, gripping her head. Behind them, the Galra ship began to pulse, warning lights flaring.

Pidge knelt beside her, cradling her trembling frame, whispering, “I’ve got you. I’m not leaving you again.”

But the sky was already burning.