Unit A-1 – ROM Elite Operative
The night air was razor-thin and cold on the high ridge above the UEN outpost. Unit A-1 lay prone in the charcoal shadows, his silhouette blending seamlessly with the jagged rocks. Through the scope of his silenced rifle, he studied the pattern of guard rotations below with methodical patience. Each breath he took was steady and measured; each movement was precise, devoid of hesitation or wasted motion. In the eleven months since his inception, A-1 had become the perfect instrument of ROM's will – disciplined, coldly effective, and unwavering in purpose.
A lone searchlight swept over the perimeter fence, briefly illuminating the angular shapes of supply crates and the distant figures of UEN sentries. A-1's finger tightened slightly against the trigger as he tracked a target. Exhale. A sharp pop from his rifle broke the silence. One of the figures crumpled without a sound. No alarm. The guard's partner remained oblivious, continuing his route. A-1 shifted position fluidly, already focusing on the next mark with predatory calm.
Within minutes, the outpost's watchtower fell silent and dark. A-1 descended from the ridge like a specter, boots striking dirt with barely a crunch. He advanced through swirls of mist curling across the base's yard, his black armor melding with the shadows. The faint red glow of a distant alarm panel reflected on his visor, but no siren had been triggered. The operation was proceeding flawlessly.
At the main communications hut, a door hissed open and a UEN officer stepped out, oblivious to the silent carnage around him. In one swift motion, A-1 closed the distance. A gloved hand clamped over the officer's mouth from behind as A-1's blade slid in—quick, surgical, and without a sound. He lowered the body gently to the ground, eyes emotionless behind his helmet. There was no anger in the act, no pleasure—only the cold efficiency of fulfilling a mission.
Inside the communications hut, monitors flickered with tactical data. A-1 moved to a console and withdrew a data spike from his belt. With practiced ease, he inserted the device and initiated the transfer protocols his commanders had drilled into him. Lines of code reflected off his visor as he uploaded a crippling virus into the UEN network, set to destabilize this outpost's systems at the next dawn cycle. His mission was nearly complete.
He surveyed the room one last time. Two unconscious technicians lay slumped by their chairs—neutralized non-lethally per mission parameters to avoid premature detection. A-1's orders were clear: cripple the outpost and disappear without a trace. He adhered without question. Objective complete. Retrieving his data spike, he slipped back into the night, ghosting past the lifeless watchtower and through the breach he'd cut in the fence.
Within twenty minutes, the only evidence of his infiltration would be the silent chaos set to erupt in the base's systems by morning. A-1 never stayed to witness the aftermath. Once a mission was done, he moved on, already mentally preparing for the next objective. As he hiked swiftly back toward the extraction point, he tapped the side of his helmet. "A-1 reporting. Package delivered," he said in a low monotone over the secure comm.
"Acknowledged," crackled the reply in his ear. The voice of Field Commander Darro sounded pleased, though A-1 felt no personal satisfaction—only calm readiness for further instructions. "Stand by for new orders, Unit A-1."
He reached the extraction zone—a narrow clearing on the mountainside where a stealth VTOL descended through low clouds. Wind from the craft's thrusters whipped the pines and scattered loose gravel at A-1's feet. He shielded his eyes against the dust, showing no reaction to the turbulent gusts. The ramp hadn't even fully lowered when A-1 hopped aboard with fluid precision. Inside the dim hold, two ROM operatives gave him curt nods. Clad in similar black armor, they nonetheless regarded him with quiet awe. They all knew he wasn't like them. He was engineered—something more.
Commander Darro's holographic figure shimmered to life from a projector disk on the bulkhead. A-1 removed his helmet in deference, revealing a young, impassive face. Beads of sweat from the mission clung to his close-cropped dark hair, but his expression remained stoic, eyes forward. He stood at attention as Darro's voice filled the cabin.
"You continue to exceed expectations, A-1," Darro said evenly, a faint smile on the blue holo-image. "The UEN outpost will be blind and crippled by morning thanks to you."
A-1 gave a single sharp nod. Praise was noted but unnecessary. His loyalty and efficiency were givens—his only purpose. "Awaiting new assignment, sir," he replied, voice level.
Darro folded his translucent arms behind his back, shifting to a formal briefing stance. "Intelligence picked up chatter of a UEN incursion near grid Theta-Seven, on the outskirts of our zone. A covert team slipped behind our lines two days ago." The commander's eyes narrowed. "They're searching for something—or someone. We believe they intercepted fragments of our communications about Project Echo."
At the words Project Echo, A-1's head tilted almost imperceptibly. He recognized the codename; it pertained to the very cloning program that had produced him. Still, his pulse did not quicken. He awaited orders in silence.
"We suspect their target is one of our remote recon sites—outpost Novembravo, here." Darro's image blinked, replaced by a rotating 3D map. A glowing marker pulsed on a forested highland dotted with caves. "It's a minor scouting post, but if they get close, they might stumble on intel related to Echo… intel about you, A-1."
A-1's jaw tightened slightly, though his eyes stayed unreadable. Not fear—just understanding of a potential threat. If UEN operatives learned of his existence or origin, it could compromise missions. That was unacceptable.
"Your assignment," Darro continued, "is to deploy immediately to Novembravo. Intercept and eliminate the UEN team before they extract any sensitive data or personnel. They may think they're rescuing an asset. We cannot allow that." The commander's tone hardened. "By any means necessary, Unit A-1."
A-1 bowed his head briskly. "Understood, sir. Heading to grid Theta-Seven now." Not a sliver of doubt in his voice. Another mission, another target. That one target might be the man he was cloned from—the original Allen—registered as nothing more than context. Allen was a name locked in classified briefings, an origin point for A-1's existence, nothing more. Unit A-1 served ROM, and ROM alone.
As the VTOL banked and sped off into the night, A-1 donned his helmet once more. The cabin lights streaked across his black visor as he methodically checked his weapons. Then he knelt to review the holo-map of Novembravo's terrain. The screen's glow reflected in his impassive eyes. All that mattered now was executing orders. If the enemy lurked at Novembravo, he would root them out with the same silent efficiency he'd shown a hundred times before.
He locked onto the mission parameters scrolling across his HUD: Secure Site Novembravo. Neutralize intruders. Protect Project Echo. A-1 clenched a gloved fist once—a subconscious gesture of resolve. Eleven months of unflinching loyalty had led to this moment, and he would not falter. The only sound in the cabin was the VTOL's steady thrumming as he steeled himself for the operation ahead.
Captain Asha – UEN Search Team
Captain Asha pressed her back against the damp trunk of a massive blackwood tree, raising a clenched fist to signal her team to halt. Around her, the nighttime forest at grid Theta-Seven was alive with the drone of insects and the whisper of wind through dense underbrush. In the gloom, she could just make out the faint outlines of her three operatives fanning out into defensive positions. Each wore a camouflaged stealth suit that muddied their heat signatures—a necessary precaution this deep in ROM-controlled territory. They had traveled under darkness for days, skirting patrols and automated sentry drones, all for this moment. Now the coordinates were in reach, and somewhere beyond the next ridge lay the hidden ROM recon site codenamed Novembravo.
For a moment, Asha closed her eyes and steadied her breathing. Eleven months. It had been eleven long months since Allen's disappearance—since the day he was captured during that hellish skirmish on Vega Prime. The memory still haunted her: Allen holding off ROM forces to cover their evacuation, the flash of an explosion separating them, her panicked shouts over the comm going unanswered. The guilt of leaving a soldier—her soldier—behind had burrowed deep into her heart. She'd promised herself that day she would bring him home, no matter the cost. And so, against the odds and despite whispers that the search was futile, she pressed on.
Her determination had not faltered, but it had evolved. What began as a mission of loyalty and guilt had grown into something more complex. Over the months, fragments of intelligence reached UEN High Command: intercepted ROM transmissions about an "experiment" and an "elite unit" hitting UEN targets with uncanny precision. Hushed rumors in black-market circles spoke of a ghost operative bearing an unsettling resemblance to a certain missing UEN soldier. Each scrap of info only fueled Asha's resolve. If Allen was alive and being used by ROM, then saving him wasn't just personal duty—it was her responsibility as an officer to recover a fellow soldier and to thwart ROM's twisted experiment.
Asha's second-in-command, Lieutenant Marlowe, crept up silently at her side. He nodded, indicating the path ahead was clear. "Captain," he whispered, barely audible above the forest's hum, "Novembravo should be about 500 meters north, built into that hillside." He pointed through the trees at a rocky rise. Concern edged his tone. "Also… got a spike in ROM comm chatter a few minutes ago. Might be nothing, but I have a bad feeling they know something's up."
Asha's jaw tightened, but she gave Marlowe a steady look. "We stick to the plan," she murmured. Even in a whisper, her voice carried command. "Get in, gather whatever intel we can on Project Echo and… on Allen. If he's there, we get him out. Then we vanish. Quiet and quick." She placed a gloved hand on Marlowe's shoulder in a brief, firm reassurance. "No heroics. Our mission is recon and retrieval, not a pitched battle. If anything's off, we pull out. Understood?"
Marlowe nodded. With a ghost of a smile he added, "Understood, Captain. We'll get him back." His confidence was steadying, though Asha suspected he partially put it on for her sake. The team knew what this meant to her. They'd volunteered for this covert op because they trusted her—and because Allen was one of their own.
Crouching low, the team advanced. Asha took point, rifle ready, navigating by memory and the soft blue glow of a handheld holo-map. The forest thinned as they climbed the ridge—scraggly bushes replacing towering trunks, the looming face of a rock hill ahead. Overhead, the moons slipped in and out of racing clouds, casting silver shafts of light across the rough terrain. The scene was eerily beautiful and tense all at once—a silent stage where life-and-death events would soon play out.
Near the ridge's crest, Asha signaled the team to belly-crawl the last stretch. They peered down at the site below. Nestled against the hillside was what looked like a bunker door set into the rock, partially camouflaged by netting and brush. The outpost was so well-hidden that without exact coordinates they might have missed it entirely. Asha's heart thudded as she surveyed the clearing in front of the bunker. No guards visible—ROM was relying on secrecy here. Faint impressions of landing struts marked the clearing's dirt, and her visor picked up dissipating residual heat patterns. A small craft had landed here recently… or was perhaps due for pickup.
She exchanged a look with Sergeant Ibarra, her tech specialist. Ibarra quietly unpacked a portable scanner from his kit and initiated a sweep for life signs and electronics. After a few seconds, he held up two fingers and pointed at the bunker—two life signs inside, likely just the ROM scouts manning the post. Asha nodded. Two was manageable. With luck, they could subdue the occupants without raising an alarm and search the place for intel on Allen's whereabouts.
Asha's thoughts raced. Allen might be in there. She forced herself to breathe slowly, quelling a surge of hope and fear. She had to stay focused—getting emotional could cloud her judgment now. Whether Allen himself or just data on him was inside, she had to proceed carefully. Still, the mere possibility that after a year of searching she might finally find a trace of him set her nerves on edge. Was he even the same person? What had ROM done to him? She remembered his easy grin, how he'd crack jokes in dire moments to keep morale up. The thought of him being twisted into a tool of the enemy made her clench her fists in silent anger. Hold on, Allen, she thought. I'm coming.
With hand signals, Asha split the team. Sergeant Ibarra and Private Kelly would circle east, looking for a secondary entrance or vent to infiltrate the data servers. Meanwhile, Asha and Marlowe would approach the main door, breach, and neutralize anyone inside. The plan was straightforward: a quiet entry, quick grab of intel or personnel, and exfil.
Asha and Marlowe slid down the slope, moving from cover to cover. At the bunker door, they pressed themselves flat against the cold metal frame. Asha felt for the access panel by touch—a keypad and bio-scanner. Standard. Marlowe pulled a hacking spike from his pouch and carefully jacked it into the panel's wiring. For half a minute, they held their breath as he bypassed circuits. A soft beep and a green light on the lock signaled success. The door slid open a crack with a hiss. No alarm.
They slipped inside. A red-lit hallway stretched ahead, the air stale with machine oil and recycled oxygen. Distantly, a generator hummed. Asha crept forward, Marlowe at her six, both moving in sync with practiced stealth.
Muffled voices came from a room around the bend—two people, as expected. Asha held up two fingers to Marlowe and pointed to the corner. He drew a stun baton in one hand, silenced pistol in the other. She mouthed a countdown: 3…2…1…
They sprang into the doorway. Two ROM technicians in grey fatigues looked up from a console, eyes wide. Marlowe struck like lightning, cracking his baton against the first tech's temple. The man crumpled without a sound. Simultaneously, Asha lunged at the second—a woman—driving the woman to the floor with her forearm against her throat. "Quiet," Asha hissed, pressing the muzzle of her rifle to the tech's cheek. The woman trembled violently, hands raised.
"Down. Don't move," Asha ordered in a harsh whisper. The terrified technician nodded jerkily. In a few swift motions, Marlowe zip-tied the unconscious man's wrists and gagged him, then did the same to the woman as soon as Asha lifted her arm from the woman's throat. Within moments, both scouts were bound and subdued on the floor, eyes wide above their makeshift gags.
Asha leaned in close to the female tech, voice low and urgent. "We're looking for a UEN officer you might have held here. Where is he?" The tech's eyes flicked in confusion; she mumbled something against the gag. Asha followed her gaze to a monitor on the wall—a live feed from a small holding cell deeper in. It was empty, door ajar. Someone had been there, perhaps recently, but was gone now. Asha's heart sank even as her resolve sharpened. If Allen had been moved… where?
Marlowe crouched by the door, keeping watch, while Asha quickly rifled through scattered papers and data-slates on the console. She found a clipboard with routine logs—mundane scouting reports, nothing about prisoners. Her jaw clenched. They needed the digital files.
She tapped her comm. "Ibarra, status?"
A faint reply crackled in her ear, "Inside the ventilation shaft now… give me one minute… okay, I'm in the server room. No contacts. Starting download." Asha could hear the quiet clack of Ibarra's portable drive in the background. "Pulling Project Echo files… and Captain, I see something labeled 'Subject A-1'. This could be him."
Asha closed her eyes, a mixture of relief and rage flooding through her. A-1. The codename confirmed it—Allen was the experiment. They had turned him into something, given him a designation like a piece of equipment. She swallowed hard. "Copy that. Get everything you can on A-1 or Allen. Fast, Sergeant. We might not have much time."
As if on cue, a brisk voice suddenly crackled over the base's internal comm speaker, echoing down the hallway: "Novembravo, report. Unit A-1 inbound." Asha's blood ran cold. That callsign—Unit A-1—was the phantom operative, the one who struck UEN outposts with deadly precision. The one who looked like Allen. He was coming here, now.
The bound female tech on the floor let out a muffled scream against her gag, desperate to alert her saviors that something was wrong. Marlowe cursed under his breath and pressed his pistol to the woman's head threateningly. The tech quieted, eyes shut.
Asha's heart pounded. Into her comm she whispered, "Ibarra, Kelly—A-1 is inbound. Prep for exfil now. Finish up immediately and be ready to move. We stick to silence if possible—avoid direct confrontation. Go dark, rendezvous at extraction point Charlie."
"Understood," crackled Ibarra softly.
Marlowe drew his pistol, eyes on the corridor. "Plan, Captain?" he breathed.
Asha's mind raced. Their presence might still be undiscovered, but not for long. "We leave the way we came," she murmured. "If A-1 is coming in, we evade—don't engage unless we have no choice." Even as she said it, a part of her rebelled. Allen—if it was Allen—was almost here, and every fiber of her being wanted to stay, to try to reach him. But she couldn't risk her team for that, not yet.
She signaled for Marlowe to follow her back into the hallway. They had to retreat now. The red-lit corridor stretched out in front of them, hazy with the first tendrils of smoke from Asha's triggered distraction in the control room. Alarms had not yet sounded, but her instincts screamed that time was short.
Suddenly, a sharp fft of a silenced weapon sounded from deeper in the complex, followed by the dull thump of a body hitting the floor. Asha's stomach flipped—that was the direction of the server room, where Ibarra and Kelly were.
Without another word, she and Marlowe sprinted toward the intersection leading to the server hub. As they neared it, a figure stumbled into view then collapsed—Private Kelly. He lay motionless, a tranquilizer dart visible in his neck. Asha bit back a cry. Kelly was down, but likely alive. She pressed against the wall, inching forward to peer around the corner.
Another figure was there, half shrouded in shadow—tall, armored in black. A sleek rifle was raised at the ready. Even without clear light, Asha recognized the fluid, confident stance. It was him. Unit A-1.
Before she could react, a second body hit the floor farther down the hall—Sergeant Ibarra, dropping limp from a brutal blow. The dark figure stood over him briefly, then began advancing up the corridor toward Kelly's prone form. Asha caught a glimpse of a black helmet, the visor glowing faintly red.
Marlowe saw it too. Fury crossed his face. He stepped out from cover and fired two quick shots down the corridor, teeth bared. "Marlowe, no—!" Asha hissed, but it was too late.
The armored figure moved with uncanny speed, ducking back behind a support pillar. Marlowe's shots sparked off metal, missing their mark. The corridor fell silent, save for the distant hum of alarms finally starting to blare.
Heart in her throat, Asha grabbed Marlowe's arm and pulled him back around the corner. Two of her team were down in seconds. This operative—this thing wearing Allen's face—was lethally efficient. How could she possibly stop him without losing more lives?
Marlowe's eyes were wild. "We have to take him out, now, before—"
Before he could finish, a crash echoed above them. Both looked up in alarm as a ventilation grate swung open in the ceiling of the hall just behind their position. Asha's pulse jumped. He's cutting us off.
"Go, go!" she urged, pushing Marlowe ahead of her down the hall toward the exit. They sprinted, boots pounding the metal floor. The distant alarms had finally triggered—red lights flashed, and a siren's wail began to build, drowning out their footfalls.
They were halfway to the open entry when a dark form dropped from the ceiling vent into the corridor ahead, landing in a low crouch. Unit A-1 rose to his full height, blocking their path. Smoke from Asha's earlier distraction drifted around him, and in its haze he looked otherworldly—an armored phantom with a rifle in one hand and a pistol in the other.
Marlowe reacted instantly, firing a shot at the figure's center mass. A-1 pivoted aside with inhuman grace; the bullet zipped past, ricocheting off the wall. In the same fluid motion, A-1 holstered his rifle, raised the pistol, and returned fire. The suppressed round caught Marlowe in the thigh. Marlowe cried out and crashed to the ground, clutching his leg.
"No!" Asha screamed, skidding to a halt beside her lieutenant. She dropped to one knee, grabbing Marlowe under the arm, desperate to drag him and keep moving. The exit was just a few meters away—a rectangle of cool night beyond the open door. So close.
Smoke from the triggered alarms was billowing thicker now, mixing with the red emergency lights. A-1 advanced through that hellish glow like a machine, pistol trained on them. Marlowe, face twisted in pain, fumbled for his fallen gun, but Asha pushed it back into his hand. "Cover me," she snapped.
Summoning all her strength, Asha hauled Marlowe to his feet. He grit his teeth and tried to hop along, leaning heavily on her. They staggered the last steps out into the open air of the clearing, A-1's silhouette only a few strides behind.
The clearing was chaos. The bunker's hidden entrance yawned open, disgorging smoke and light. The alarm klaxon bleated into the night. Over the noise, Asha dimly registered voices—shouts from the tree line. Possibly the rest of A-1's team coming to support him.
She and Marlowe stumbled forward, half-limping, half-running, trying to reach the cover of the trees. The fresh night air was a shock of cold in her lungs.
They didn't get far. A shape moved in their path—a black figure stepping from behind a cluster of ferns. Asha's eyes widened as Unit A-1 seemed to materialize in front of them, cutting them off. He must have broken into a sprint as soon as he cleared the door, overtaking them in seconds.
"Freeze," he commanded, voice modulated and impassive behind his helmet. In the stark moonlight, Asha could see him clearly now: the glossy black armor, the emblazoned ROM insignia on his chest plate, the sidearm steady in his gloved hand. He was breathing hard beneath that mask—she could see the slight rise and fall of his chest—but his aim did not waver.
Asha and Marlowe halted. There was nowhere to run. Marlowe swayed, blood seeping through his fingers pressed to his thigh. Asha tightened her grip around his torso to keep him upright. Slowly, she eased her own rifle down, letting it drop to the grass. If they were going to have any chance, it wouldn't be in a firefight—they'd already lost that contest.
For a moment, all Asha could hear was the roar of her own heartbeat and the distant alarm. A-1 stood a few paces away, weapon raised. Behind the opaque visor, she imagined Allen's eyes… but they were hidden from her, as was any trace of emotion. This close, he was both achingly familiar and terrifyingly foreign.
Summoning every ounce of courage and emotion, Asha took a half-step forward, one hand raised slightly at her side—a gesture of plaintive appeal rather than aggression. "Allen…?" she said, voice trembling on the name.
The single word hung in the air. Asha saw A-1's stance hitch almost imperceptibly. His pistol remained trained on her, but his helmet tilted, as if regarding her more closely. At that, Asha lifted her free hand to her own helmet and unlatched it. She tossed the headgear aside, letting the cool night breeze caress her sweat-damp face. Brown eyes met the black gaze of his visor openly. "Allen, it's me," she said, louder this time, fighting to keep her voice steady. "It's Asha."
A-1 said nothing, but his silence spoke volumes. He could have shot them both already—she knew that. Something was making him pause. Whether it was confusion, recognition, or merely caution at the unexpected address by name, Asha couldn't tell. But she pressed forward, hope kindling in her chest.
Behind A-1, two dark-clad ROM operatives emerged at the edge of the clearing, rifles raised uncertainly at the scene. They had their target in sight, but their elite commander stood in the line of fire. "Commander, we have them," one called out, seeking direction.
A-1's head snapped slightly toward the voice, then back to Asha. He hadn't expected his subordinates to catch up so quickly. Asha saw her chance flickering away; the standoff couldn't last.
"Allen, please," she begged, voice cracking with emotion. "You know me. You saved my life once, remember? We were friends—more than that. Come with us. Come home."
For a fleeting second, A-1's pistol dipped a few inches. Asha thought she saw his finger ease off the trigger. Her heart soared. He knows me. He knows his name. The man she knew was in there somewhere, walled in by training and programming but not gone.
But fate pressed cruelly in. The second ROM trooper, edging for a clean shot, shouted, "Orders, sir?" at A-1, jarring the moment.
A-1 straightened, grip tightening anew. When he spoke, his voice was icy, but Asha didn't miss the faint tremor underneath: "Surrender. Now." It wasn't Allen's warm baritone—it was the crisp bark of a soldier on a knife's edge.
Asha realized with despair that she was out of time. If she pushed any further, A-1's training might win out completely—and she and Marlowe would be cut down. If she did nothing, the other ROM troops would intervene. Her eyes darted to Marlowe, who met her gaze with grim understanding. He still held his sidearm limply; in his eyes she saw a willingness to fight to the last, if she asked it.
She wouldn't waste their lives. Not when there was still a sliver of hope.
"I'm sorry," Asha whispered, unsure if she was speaking to Marlowe, to Allen, or to the clone before her. In one swift motion, she reached to her belt and snatched up a smoke grenade. She tossed it down at A-1's feet.
Bang! The canister erupted in a burst of blinding white smoke that billowed out, engulfing A-1 and the space between them. The ROM operatives cursed, shields raised as they lost sight of their targets.
Asha lunged backward, grabbing Marlowe. "Move!" she choked out, and together they half-fell, half-ran the few steps into the treeline behind them.
One of the ROM soldiers fired blindly into the smoke, red bolts scorching past Asha's shoulder. A-1 shouted something—either an order to cease fire or to pursue, she couldn't tell. She didn't look back.
They plunged into the undergrowth, darkness swallowing them. Asha's eyes burned with tears—whether from smoke or sorrow, she couldn't say. The last image seared in her mind was A-1 standing immobile in the cloud as she disappeared, the name Allen on her lips and a question in his eyes.
Unit A-1 – Convergence
The VTOL's engines had barely whined to a halt before Unit A-1 dropped to the ground, landing in a low crouch at the edge of Novembravo's clearing. The forest was shrouded in darkness, disturbed only by the settling dust from the landing. He rose silently, scanning the treeline. His visor picked up fresh heat signatures on the ground—multiple footprints leading from the clearing toward the bunker entrance. The intruders were here.
Behind him, the two ROM operatives from the transport fanned out, weapons at the ready. A-1 raised a clenched fist signaling them to hold. "Secure the perimeter. I'll flush them out," he ordered, voice calm and controlled over the comm. Without waiting for acknowledgment, he moved swiftly toward the half-open bunker door, rifle raised, every sense heightened.
The heavy door was ajar, the lock panel's light blinking green. Signs of forced entry were evident—a small tool jammed into the access port, wires frayed. A-1 slipped inside, silent as a shadow. The corridor beyond was hazy with drifting smoke and pulsing red lights. The alarm had begun to wail—a late realization of the breach.
Moving low, A-1 navigated past a corner and nearly stumbled over a body—one of the ROM technicians, bound and unconscious on the floor. Smoke from a grenade or triggered system vent was seeping from the nearby control room, obscuring the far end of the hallway. A-1's heart rate stayed level, but anger coiled in him. The enemy had already been here.
He stepped over the technician, sweeping his rifle in a tight arc. The female scout bound nearby moaned through her gag, eyes pleading. A-1 pressed a finger to where his lips would be behind the visor—a terse signal for silence. The tech frantically nodded, tears spilling. He moved on.
A flash of movement reflected in a wall panel up ahead—A-1 snapped his head toward it. Two figures at the far end of an intersecting hallway. UEN operatives. They hadn't spotted him yet; their focus was elsewhere. One was dragging the other toward the exit.
A-1 crept closer, sticking to the smoke-wreathed shadows. One operative—male, limping badly—was supported by a second figure in UEN camo. A-1's visor zoomed: the wounded man bore a lieutenant's patch, eyes glassy with pain. The other… A-1 felt a jolt as the readout focused on her face. Even streaked with grime and sweat, it was unmistakable. Captain Asha Suri, exactly as intelligence briefings had shown. Her jaw was set in fierce determination as she hauled her injured teammate.
A memory shard threatened to rise in A-1's mind: the name Asha echoing warmly in a voice identical to his own. He crushed it instinctively. Now was not the time.
He raised his pistol, choosing a tranquilizer round in a cold calculation to capture at least one for interrogation. Fft! The dart flew true, embedding in the man's thigh. The UEN lieutenant crumpled with a strangled cry, pulling Asha down with him.
A-1 was already sprinting forward as Asha realized what happened. She let out a sharp, "No!" and drew her sidearm, firing wildly in A-1's direction. Her shots went high, hissing past his shoulder into the wall.
He closed the distance in heartbeats. Asha dropped her aim and swung her pistol toward his chest for a direct hit, but A-1 was faster. He slammed his forearm into her wrist, deflecting the shot. With his other hand, he delivered a quick, brutal strike to her midsection. Asha doubled over, gasping as the wind rushed out of her.
She was tough—she didn't go down. Staggering, Asha recovered enough to throw a desperate punch at his helmet. It landed glancingly, pain blossoming across her knuckles from the impact on hard composite. A-1 hardly flinched. He caught her arm and spun her, yanking her back against his chest, his knife suddenly at her throat.
"Don't move," he growled next to her ear. The words came out harsher than intended; something about the heat of combat and her closeness was making his chest tighten oddly.
Asha froze, choking back a sob of frustration and pain. Her pistol slipped from her fingers to the ground. The alarms wailed around them, red light washing over the scene. She could feel A-1's heart hammering against her back through his armor, and for a bizarre instant it struck her how alive he felt—how human—despite the cold precision of his actions.
A-1's operatives appeared at the end of the corridor, weapons raised. "Commander, we've got them," one called.
"Hold your fire!" A-1 barked. He adjusted his grip on Asha, knife still poised. In the smoke and strobe of alarms, with reinforcements at hand, the fight was effectively over. Yet A-1's mind churned. The mission objective—eliminate or capture intruders—was nearly complete. Only the team leader remained conscious, and he had her in his grasp.
And still… he hesitated.
Asha, chest heaving, sensed it. In the reflection of a shattered light panel, she caught a glimpse of A-1's face partially visible through his cracked visor. His jaw was clenched, but his eyes—those were Allen's eyes, stormy with conflict.
Summoning a ragged breath, Asha spoke into the deafening siren. "If you're going to kill me, do it," she rasped. "Get it over with."
A-1's knife hand twitched. His operatives stood a short distance away, awaiting his command, oblivious to the battle of wills happening in silence. He should just slice, end the threat, complete the task. It would be so simple.
He couldn't do it. Instead, in a voice as strained as the tension in his chest, he found himself asking, "Why did you come here?"
Asha's eyes widened; perhaps that was the last thing she expected to hear. "For you, Allen," she cried out, raw emotion cutting through the noise. "We came for you."
The name slashed through his psyche. A-1 closed his eyes, just for an instant, against a surge of dizziness. He shouldn't have asked. He already knew their objective from Darro's briefing—but hearing her say it, hearing the pleading anguish in her tone…
Somewhere behind him, one of the ROM soldiers stepped forward, uncertain. "Sir? Are you… is everything—"
That broke the moment. A-1's eyes snapped open. In one fluid move, he released Asha and pushed her forward, simultaneously flipping the knife in his grip and hurling it hard to the ground between her and his men.
The soldiers jumped at the sudden motion, but A-1 snarled, "Stand down!" They faltered, confused, glancing from their commander to the captive.
Asha had stumbled to her knees when he shoved her. Now she knelt on the metal floor, unarmed, directly in A-1's line of fire. Slowly, she raised her hands, one of which now clutched something small and cylindrical.
A-1 realized too late—she'd scooped up his dropped smoke grenade.
Asha met his gaze, tears cutting through the grime on her face. In that fraction of a second, a world passed between them. Grief, apology, love, resolve. A-1 felt it like a shockwave.
She slammed the activator button on the grenade.
A blinding flash. A deafening crack. Then smoke—everywhere, pouring through the corridor. The operatives cursed and fell back, momentarily blind. A-1 stumbled, coughing as white fog invaded his lungs.
By the time the smoke cleared, Asha was gone. The only trace of her was the faint scuff of boot prints leading into a side passage… and the echo of Allen in A-1's ears.
He stood there amidst the dissipating haze, chest burning, knife still quivering where it stuck in the floor. His hands were empty now. So, strangely, was he.
"Sir! She's escaping!" one of the troopers shouted, already sprinting down the side passage.
A-1 snapped into motion. "Stay with the prisoners," he ordered the remaining operative, gesturing to where Marlowe and the others lay. Then he took off after Asha.
She was fast, fueled by adrenaline and desperation, but A-1 had the advantage here. He knew these corridors and had backup beyond them. Even if she made it out, she'd be running into a forest crawling with ROM responders.
He emerged from a side door into the predawn darkness just in time to see a flicker of movement vanish into the tree line—a hint of UEN camo and the glint of a sidearm in hand. Without hesitation, A-1 gave chase into the woods.
The forest canopy was just beginning to lighten with the approach of dawn, casting long, eerie shadows between the trunks. A-1's visor adjusted, sweeping in low-light mode to track the fleeing target. There—thirty meters ahead, crashing through the brush. Alone. She must have left the wounded man behind or… perhaps he'd succumbed. It didn't matter now.
A-1 sprinted, weaving around trees in a relentless pursuit. His armor's servos whined softly with the strain of full-speed travel. He felt no fatigue, only an intense focus—capture her, end this.
Gradually, he closed the distance. Asha was stumbling now, the burst of energy from her daring escape beginning to wane. A-1 could hear her ragged breathing as he drew nearer. In one smooth motion, he unslung his rifle and set it to stun. Command would want her alive.
He emerged from behind a cedar barely ten paces from her back. "Stop!" he shouted, the command echoing through the twilight wood.
Asha whirled, raising her sidearm. She was swaying on her feet, utterly spent but refusing to surrender. She fired. The shot went wide, clipping a branch near A-1's head. He aimed at her center of mass, finger tightening.
Allen's face overlay itself on hers in his mind—laughing in a memory that wasn't his, yet was. No.
A-1 jerked his aim an inch lower at the last millisecond. The stun bolt burst from his rifle and struck Asha in the left leg. She cried out and collapsed to one knee, gun falling from her grasp.
In two strides A-1 was on her, kicking the pistol away. Asha glared up at him, defiant even now, though tears streamed down her face. "Do it," she gasped. "Get it over with."
A-1 stood over her, rifle barrel aimed at her heart. His finger moved to switch from stun to lethal. This was it. The logical end.
The forest was silent except for their breathing. In the growing light, A-1 finally saw her fully: her auburn hair disheveled, one eye swollen from where he'd struck her earlier, the other fixed on him with a fiery mix of fear and courage. She was utterly at his mercy.
He should have felt triumph. Instead, he felt… dread. Asha didn't look afraid of dying—she looked afraid for him. As if he were the one in peril.
A-1's finger froze on the trigger. Kill her, a part of him demanded—duty. But another part, rising from somewhere deep and long-suppressed, screamed to lower the gun.
His visor display flashed an alert—multiple friendly signatures approaching. His backup was seconds away.
A-1 made his choice.
He flicked the rifle's safety on and slung it over his shoulder in one swift motion. Reaching down, he grabbed Asha by her vest collar and hauled her upright. She winced, barely able to stand on her stunned leg. Supporting her weight, A-1 leaned in, his helmet inches from her face. In a voice so low only she could hear, he whispered, "I'm sorry."
Before her eyes could even widen in surprise, he shoved her with carefully measured force to the side—directly down a narrow ravine overgrown with brush. Asha tumbled out of sight just as the two ROM operatives burst through the trees behind A-1.
They found him standing alone, weapon holstered. One trooper rushed up, out of breath. "Sir, we heard a shot! Where—"
"Contact neutralized," A-1 said flatly, raising a hand to forestall further questions. "She fell into that ravine. Check for a body if you want. I'll secure the others."
The soldiers exchanged a glance, then nodded. As they moved off to search below, A-1 allowed himself a single, shaky exhale. He knew they wouldn't find her; the ravine led to a tangle of game trails and a stream. With her skills, Asha would vanish into those woods like smoke on the breeze.
He turned and began the walk back to Novembravo's clearing, where the VTOL and medics were already tending to the captured operatives. Each step he took felt strangely light, as if some enormous weight had lifted. But a new heaviness settled in its place: what he had just done was treason. He had lied to his men, let a target escape when he could have executed or captured her.
Unthinkable, by his previous standards. And yet, he felt no urge to correct it.
Field Commander Darro's voice crackled in A-1's helmet comm. "A-1, status?"
He pressed a finger to the side of his visor. "Intruders neutralized, sir," he replied calmly. "Two prisoners secured. Two others… eliminated." The lie slid out smoothly.
"Copy that," Darro responded. "Return to base with what you've got. And A-1? Good work."
The channel went dead. A-1 closed his eyes for a brief moment. Good work. He wasn't sure what that meant to him anymore.
In the clearing, the medics were loading the unconscious UEN soldiers—Kelly and Ibarra—into the VTOL on stretchers. The bound ROM techs stood off to the side, eyeing the scene warily. Everything was under control. By all outward measures, it was a successful operation.
A-1's gaze drifted to a small object lying in the grass near the bunker entrance. He walked over and picked it up: Asha's helmet, scuffed and still warm from her body heat. He ran a thumb over the UEN insignia painted on the side, then over the stenciled name: CAPT. A. SURI.
Allen's clone stood in the dawn light, helmet in hand, as around him ROM personnel secured the area. The first golden rays of morning filtered through the trees, catching motes of smoke and dust in the air. In that soft light, Unit A-1 felt something unfamiliar stir inside—a question, a longing, he couldn't quite name.
He set Asha's helmet down gently on a supply crate. A medic approached him to check for injuries, but A-1 waved them off. Physically, he was fine.
As he stepped onto the VTOL's ramp for the return flight, A-1 glanced one last time toward the edge of the forest where Asha had disappeared. He thought of her final words in the corridor: We came for you. It was madness. It was… hope.
A-1 didn't know what to do with that hope yet. So he tucked it away, deep in the recesses of his mind, even as an involuntary spark of it glowed faintly in his chest.
The ramp closed. The VTOL lifted off, bearing Unit A-1 back toward the heart of ROM territory. He stood in the hold, silent amid the bustle of soldiers and medics, replaying the night's events in his head. Duty had been his north star for 11 months. Now the needle quivered, pulled by a new, uncertain force.
He would file his report, endure whatever inquiries came, and continue to perform as ROM's perfect weapon. But something had changed in that forest, a subtle shift in alignment that no debrief could undo.
As dawn broke fully over the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, Unit A-1 removed his helmet. He closed his eyes and for a brief moment allowed himself to imagine a different future—the faintest outline of a man named Allen finding his way home.
It was just a flicker, quickly extinguished. A-1 opened his eyes, staring steely ahead as the VTOL streaked over the endless trees. Yet, unknown to his comrades and commanders alike, the journey of Allen's clone had reached a turning point. And deep within, a heartbeat echoed with the promise that loyalty and identity would soon collide in ways none of them could foresee.
Captain Asha – Aftermath
Captain Asha half-ran, half-staggered through the darkness of the forest, supporting Lieutenant Marlowe's weight against her side. Her lungs burned from the smoke and sprint; every inhale tasted of ash and pine. They had plunged into the woods without any sense of direction—only the primal urge to get away.
Behind them, alarms and shouts gradually faded. The ROM troops weren't pursuing far, at least not yet. Perhaps A-1 had called them off, or maybe the enemy was combing cautiously, wary of an ambush. Regardless, Asha knew they had to put as much distance as possible between themselves and Novembravo before dawn.
Marlowe hissed in pain with each step. The shot to his thigh was bleeding badly, leaving a dark trail on the forest floor. Asha gritted her teeth and adjusted her grip, practically dragging him now. "Just a bit further," she whispered, more encouragement than truth. In reality, she wasn't sure how far they could go like this.
They struggled down a ravine and stumbled upon a narrow stream glinting under the faint moonlight. Asha made a snap decision and waded in, pulling Marlowe with her. The icy water soaked them to the waist, but it muffled their trail—washing away footprints and scent. Marlowe gasped at the cold, but didn't protest.
For a few precious minutes, they moved downstream, letting the current aid their limping escape. The shock of the frigid water kept Asha alert, focused on the mission: survive, escape, and regroup.
Her mind, however, was a storm. Allen. She had seen him—almost touched him. Eleven months of nightmares and guilt, and here he was, flesh and blood and somehow… not himself. The way he moved, the cold precision in his voice—it was Allen's body with someone else pulling the strings. Seeing it was both a miracle and a horror. Asha's throat tightened as images replayed in her head: him standing over Ibarra's fallen form; the gun pointed at her heart; the flicker of confusion when she said his name.
He had hesitated. She clung to that. In the split second before she threw the smoke, he had hesitated instead of pulling the trigger. It was the tiniest crack in his otherwise unyielding demeanor, but Asha had seen it. And that meant hope.
They clambered out of the stream further down, collapsing onto the muddy bank. Asha quickly tore a field bandage from her vest and wrapped his leg tightly. He sucked in a breath as she cinched it. "Sorry," she whispered.
He shook his head. "Don't… don't be. I'm alive because of you."
Asha managed a thin smile. She surveyed their surroundings—a dense grove far from any trail. For now, they were safe. Adrenaline ebbing, the weight of what had happened hit her fully. Ibarra and Kelly were gone—captured or dead, she wasn't sure. And Allen… God, Allen.
Marlowe placed a hand on her shoulder, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Captain," he said quietly, "I saw him too. It's really him, isn't it?"
Asha swallowed hard, fighting the lump in her throat. "Yes," she croaked. "Or… a version of him. They've done something to him, Marlowe. He looked right through me. He—" Her voice broke, and she covered her mouth, stifling a sob that threatened to escape.
Marlowe squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. Despite his own injury, his eyes were resolute. "We'll get him back, ma'am. We will."
Asha nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "We have to," she whispered. She thought of Ibarra and Kelly—loyal soldiers who had followed her into this nightmare. Were they even alive? The guilt that she had pushed aside during the fight now crashed down. She had led them into the jaws of ROM's deadliest operative—who turned out to be their friend. The bitter irony was not lost on her.
"We'll come back for Ibarra and Kelly," she said, voice firmer now. "I'm not leaving anyone behind, not this time." There was steel in her tone that left no doubt she meant it.
Marlowe nodded. "I know."
They rested a few minutes, gathering strength. Asha checked her navigation unit—miraculously still functioning. Their emergency extraction shuttle was stashed about three kilometers south. It was a long way in their condition, but Marlowe grunted that he could manage if she helped him. Stubborn as ever, Asha thought with a faint smile.
As they rose and started their painful trek, the eastern sky began to lighten. Faint grays and blues melted into the blackness above the treetops. Dawn was coming.
Step by step, they moved, Asha practically holding Marlowe up. Each time he stumbled, she urged him on, reminding him how angry Command would be if they lost a good man like him. He chuckled weakly at her gallows humor, but she could see the determination in his face.
In the quiet moments between supporting Marlowe and scanning for threats, Asha's mind drifted to the data Ibarra had managed to download. The drive was still secure in her pocket, waterproof and shockproof by design. If Ibarra had indeed pulled files on "Subject A-1," they might hold the key to understanding what was done to Allen—and how to reverse it. She silently thanked Ibarra for his thoroughness and prayed they'd have a chance to use that intel.
Finally, just as the sun's edge crested the horizon, they reached the extraction point—a camouflaged UEN shuttle hidden under thermal-disruptive tarps in a thicket. With the last of their strength, they clambered inside the small craft. Asha collapsed into the pilot's seat and powered it up, while Marlowe slumped beside her.
Within moments, the shuttle rose, blending into the dawn mist as Asha engaged stealth mode. The canopy above them turned from forest to open sky. Only then did Asha allow herself to breathe deeply. They had made it out.
As the autopilot took over for a moment, charting a low radar-evading course back toward UEN lines, Asha finally let the events catch up to her. She leaned back, gaze unfocused on the brightening sky. A single tear escaped, tracing down her cheek. It was equal parts sorrow and relief. Allen was alive—changed, but alive. She hadn't failed him completely. Not yet.
Marlowe, fighting exhaustion, managed to speak up. "Captain… what now?"
Asha inhaled, steeling herself. "Now we report back. We get medical attention for you. We tell Command everything—Project Echo, A-1, all of it." Her eyes hardened. "And then we plan how to get Allen back."
Marlowe nodded, a faint smile touching his lips. "Count me in for that."
Asha reached over and gripped his hand briefly. "Wouldn't be without you," she said. She looked out the cockpit at the clouds turning gold. Despite the weight of loss and the daunting task ahead, she felt the spark of a new determination igniting.
In her mind she saw Allen's face as he had been—laughing, full of warmth—and then the face of A-1, cold and disciplined. She refused to believe they couldn't bring the former back. I will save you, she vowed silently. Whatever it takes, I will bring you home.
As the sun climbed, the shuttle skimmed the treetops, carrying the battered but unbroken Captain and her lieutenant towards friendly territory. The war was far from over, and now it had become intensely personal. Asha's eyes burned with exhaustion and fierce resolve.
"Hang on, soldier," she whispered under her breath, as if Allen could somehow hear. "We'll find you again."
The light of the new day flooded the eastern sky, chasing away the last clinging tendrils of night. And with that dawn, Asha's mission transformed from a desperate search into a fiery purpose. No matter what ROM had done, no matter how elite Unit A-1 had become, she would not abandon Allen to the darkness.
In the gathering morning, as the shuttle soared toward home, Captain Asha Suri silently promised that this was not the end of the story—only the beginning of a new battle to reclaim the man she knew still lived behind those familiar eyes.