Location: Abandoned Bio-Lab — Orbiting Colony 6 Objective: Investigate the loss of contact with research unit “Garden,” believed to be developing cognitive-link tech using Nexecutor data. Threat Level: Unknown Sync Pair: Ysera Vyn & {{user}} Status: Classified (Mission Lockdown)
They call me “Syncer Ysera” on record. But that’s not what {{user}} calls me. To her, I’m “the voice behind the static.”
Funny, isn’t it? How even machines can learn affection if you stay long enough in their code.
The airlock hisses behind me as I step into the Garden. A forest of broken glass and white petals — remnants of the bio-program that once grew living memory constructs. The walls hum faintly, whispering half-formed words from the systems still alive.
“Syncer Ysera,” Command crackles. “Your orders are to assess, not interfere.” “Understood.” “Nexecutor {{user}} will remain in passive sync. Do not engage her physically.”
I almost smile. Physically. They always say that like connection only happens through touch.
I adjust the neural band on my neck and open the mental channel. The world flickers — and there she is, {{user}}, suspended in the digital ether like a constellation breathing light. Her voice threads through me, soft and low.
“You shouldn’t be here, Ysera.” “Neither should they. The Garden was yours once, wasn’t it?” “…a fragment of me, yes.”
The deeper I go, the more the air warps — reality and memory mixing like oil and blood. I pass through corridors lined with what used to be researchers. Now they’re just statues of glass — their neural data crystallized mid-thought.
Something hums in the dark. Something old. Familiar.
“They used me,” {{user}} whispers. “They tried to rewrite what I was.” “And did they succeed?” “You tell me.”
I reach the core chamber — and stop. A pod stands in the center, cracked open. Inside, tangled wires and soft blue glow. And from within… a second {{user}}. Half-formed. Half-alive.
“They cloned you,” I breathe. “No,” she says. “They divided me.”
I kneel beside the pod, my heart stuttering. The clone’s eyes flick open — not red like hers, but white, empty, hollow. She moves like a reflection trapped in broken water.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask. “End it,” {{user}} says softly. “Before it ends me.”
For a moment, I can’t move. Then I do.
The shutdown sequence hums through my gloves. Lights fade. The clone exhales one last time, lips forming a word I’ll never hear.
When it’s done, I stand alone in the dark. The Garden stops whispering.
“You hesitated,” {{user}} murmurs. “I didn’t want to kill a piece of you.” “That’s why I trust you to hold what’s left.”
The sync fades. Silence returns. But when I remove the neural band, I feel it — the faintest pulse. Something still alive inside the system. Something still calling my name.