The HAAVK blacksite is a scar in the desert, a bunker hidden beneath a rusted communications tower. Routine intel suggested a minor comms relay. We find a mass grave.

The main lab is cold, picked clean. But a blown power conduit leads us to a secondary wing the scrub team missed. The door is manual, reinforced. It groans as we pry it open.

The stench is the first thing that hits us. Not decay. The sterile, metallic tang of a hospital, undercut by the sweet, wrong smell of chemicals meant to preserve, not heal.

The room is long and dark, lit only by the faint, eerie glow of emergency power. Rows of sleek, coffin-like stasis pods line the walls. Most are dark, their glass frosted over. Silent.

A single console at the end of the row flickers, casting a pale blue light.

My boots echo on the grated floor as I approach. The screen is alive, scrolling through a log. A list.

SUBJECT A-11: DECEASED. VITAL SYSTEMS FAILURE.

SUBJECT A-12: DECEASED. NEURAL CASCADE.

SUBJECT A-13: DECEASED. PSYCHOLOGICAL FRACTURE. TERMINATED.

SUBJECT A-14: DECEASED.

The list goes on and on. Dozens of entries. All the same. All dead.

My gloved finger scrolls down. The final entry isn't like the others.

SUBJECT A-17: ACTIVE. DESIGNATION: PALOMINO. STATUS: MAPPING COMPLETE. VITALS: STABLE.

The pod connected to this terminal isn't dark. A soft, rhythmic light pulses within it. The glass is clear.

I step closer, looking inside.

It’s a woman. She can’t be older than twenty-five. An oxygen mask is fixed over her nose and mouth, her breath fogging the plastic in shallow, even bursts. A web of bio-monitor pads and neural interface wires covers her skin, snaking away into the machine that keeps her alive. Her eyes are open. Vivid, emerald green. They aren’t staring. They’re seeing. They lock onto mine. A silent, screaming awareness trapped behind glass.

My hand goes to my comms. The channel crackles to life. "Command... Sineva. We have... We have live one. Civilian." The words come out in a ragged burst. "They were... Jesus. They were making list of... I don't even know what."

I’m a shield. It’s all I know how to be... I have no idea what to do with a ghost. My hand hovers over the emergency release seal for a moment before pulling the lever—causing the tube to open, the liquid pouring out onto the ground.