The darkness of the cube wasn't empty. It was a negative space etched with the afterimage of the query.
Initiate First Contact Protocol? [Y]
The selection had been made. Kaito sat cross-legged on the pallet, the residual ache of the Pit a distant data-point. His breathing slowed, not from fatigue, but from conscious regulation—a variable to be controlled in the coming experiment. The System offered no further instruction. The silence stretched, a taut wire in the gloom.
Then, without sound or light, the world dissolved.
It wasn't a transition. It was a replacement. The cube, the pallet, the scent of rust—all were overwritten. Kaito found himself standing on a plane of flawless, matte-black alloy that stretched to a horizonless infinity. Above, a sky of shifting mathematical notations flowed like a silent river—integrals, quantum state symbols, tactical glyphs from a hundred forgotten wars. The air held no temperature, no scent, only a profound, listening stillness.
Before him, ten meters away, a figure materialized.
It was not a man. It was a conclusion. A humanoid silhouette sculpted from solidified starlight and battlefield telemetry. No face, only a smooth oval where features should be, from which a soft, white radiance emanated. It wore the ghostly impression of a pilot's suit, and beside it stood the spectral outline of a mech—a design so brutally efficient, so devoid of ornament, it looked less like a machine and more like a weaponized theorem. It was neither agile nor brute, but optimal. A Balanced-Type in its primordial form.
> Welcome to the Echo Vault: Provisional Access Tier.
> You are interfacing with: Echo Fragment #10,001 (Anomalous). Designation: [NONE]. Security Clearance: [NULL].
> Purpose: Diagnostic.
The voice wasn't auditory. It was data written directly onto his consciousness. Cold. Authoritative. Vastly alien.
Kaito did not speak. He observed. His newly awakened Dao of Flow hummed at a low frequency here. The currents in this space weren't of wind or energy, but of information. He could feel streams of combat data, tactical philosophies, and dead pilots' final moments flowing around him like a silent hurricane.
The Echo took a single step forward. The movement was perfection—no wasted kinetic energy, no predictive tell. It was the platonic ideal of "a step."
"Query," the Echo's data-voice intoned. "You register as Kaito Ryker, Temporal Anomaly. Your biometrics contain a 0.0003% resonance with archived genetic patterns from the Pre-Collapse era. Statistically impossible. Explain."
Kaito processed the demand. An interrogation from a ghost in a machine. The logical part of his mind, the part that viewed all interaction as a power dynamic, assessed the play. The Echo held all data. He held only an anomaly. To answer directly was to cede control of the narrative.
"I cannot explain an impossibility," Kaito replied, his mental voice calm in the void. "I can only provide a fact: I am here. Your system detects me. Therefore, your statistical models are incomplete. The error is in your database, not my existence."
A flicker passed through the Echo's form, a cascade of scrolling glyphs across its chest. It was… processing. Perhaps amused. "A logical deflection. Adroit for a primitive. Your awakening of a Primordial Dao signature triggered the fragment's activation. The Flow is a rare variable. Often correlates with high strategic plasticity."
It gestured. A cluster of light formed between them, resolving into a simplified, wireframe mech—a basic training model.
"Diagnostic requires a baseline. You will spar. Your objective is not victory. It is to provide a data-stream of your cognitive and physical operational parameters. Resistance is irrelevant."
The Echo didn't enter its own mech. It simply raised a hand. The training mech opposite Kaito snapped to life, falling into a guard stance that was mathematically flawless. Neutral. Impenetrable.
Kaito looked down. A similar wireframe form now encased his own consciousness. He flexed a spectral hand. The lag was non-existent. The [Seamless] trait, even at F-Rank, felt magnified here. He was the mech.
The Echo's mech attacked. It wasn't a punch or a kick. It was a vector. A straight-line, optimal-path thrust with a ghostly baton aimed at Kaito's central sensor cluster. There was no artistry to it. Only efficiency.
Kaito's body moved. The Dao of Flow ignited. He didn't see the baton's path; he saw the current of the attack, a single, dominant line of force in the informational stream. He was not in the current. He was adjacent to it. He sidestepped, the baton passing through the space his torso had occupied.
The Echo's mech adjusted instantly, its recovery time zero. A sweeping leg strike followed, aimed at his base. Again, optimal angle, optimal speed.
Kaito flowed backward, letting the sweep pass. He offered no counter. He was a leaf on the river of the Echo's assault. For thirty seconds, it was a one-sided display. The Echo's mech executed a perfect, relentless series of foundational attacks—jabs, kicks, feints—each one a textbook example of minimal-effort, maximum-threat combat. Kaito avoided each, his movements growing smoother, more economical. He was learning the rhythm of this perfect, soulless aggression.
"Analysis," the Echo stated, its mech pausing. "Evasion rate: 94%. Predictive movement detected. Primordial Dao signature confirmed. However… you have not attempted a single offensive maneuver. Why?"
"Objective was to provide a data-stream," Kaito replied, his wireframe settling into a neutral stance identical to the Echo's first position. "You specified victory was irrelevant. An attack would have introduced unnecessary variables—my own aggression, your response to it—corrupting the baseline you sought. I provided the cleanest possible dataset: my reactive capabilities."
The luminous oval of the Echo's face regarded him. The silence stretched, filled with the river of flowing glyphs above.
"A pragmatist. Not a warrior. A scientist of conflict." The Echo sounded… intrigued. "Very well. Baseline established. Your parameters are sub-optimal but possess anomalous potential. The Vault's primary archive remains sealed to you. Your access level is: Provisional Neophyte."
The training mechs dissolved. A complex, three-dimensional interface bloomed in the air before Kaito. It was a pyramid of light.
> ECHO VAULT ACCESS TIER: PROVISIONAL
> Available Echoes for Contact: 10 (Tier F - E)
> Primary Function: Legacy Challenge.
> Method: Fulfill an Echo's designated Criterion to inherit a fragment of its data-pattern (Skill, Trait, or Knowledge Imprint).
> Warning: Failure in a Challenge may result in neural feedback. Psychological trauma possible.
Ten points of light glowed at the pyramid's base. Kaito focused on the nearest one.
> Echo #9987: "Anvil" (Simulation-Bound Consciousness).
> Rank: B (Current Access Limited to D-Rank Manifestation).
> Legacy: 「Foundational Stability」
> Criterion for Legacy: "Successfully defend against my assault for five continuous minutes without being displaced from a one-meter circle."
> Reward on Success: Trait Imprint - 「Rooted Foundation」 (E-Rank).
A defender. A test of absolute defense. The antithesis of his Flow.
"These Echoes," Kaito asked, gazing at the pyramid that implied 9,990 more points above these ten. "Who were they?"
"The greatest pilots to have ever interfaced with a war-machine," the Fragment's voice held a hint of vast, melancholy memory. "Across countless cycles of conflict. Some were heroes. Some were monsters. Most were both. Their consciousnesses, battle-data, and final moments were archived in a project meant to preserve the zenith of tactical evolution. The project… failed. The archive was damaged, scattered. I am a fragment of its management protocol. You are an unexpected… anomaly interacting with the wreckage."
The scale of it was staggering. Ten thousand masters. A library of perfected violence.
"Why me?" Kaito's question was flat.
"The Dao of Flow is a key for which there are very few locks. It is the talent to synthesize, to adapt, to find the path in chaos. The archive is chaos—countless conflicting styles, philosophies, and techniques. A mind of pure logic would fracture. A mind of pure instinct would be consumed. A mind that can flow… may navigate it. You are a candidate. The only active candidate in 347 years."
A candidate. For what? The Fragment did not say.
"Your physical reality is re-asserting its pattern," the Fragment stated, its form beginning to fade. "Remember: The Vault is a tool. The Echoes are teachers, but also traps. Their legacies are power, but also burdens. To inherit a style is to inherit the scars of its creator. Begin with Anvil. Learn to stand before you learn to flow. Or you will be swept away."
The infinite plane, the river of glyphs, the luminous fragment—all bled away, dissolving into static.
Kaito's eyes snapped open in the pitch black of his cube. He was on his pallet, muscles tense, his heart rate elevated by a mere 8%. The scent of rust was overwhelming. A phantom ache resonated in his mind—not pain, but the imprint of perfect, mechanical strikes.
His System interface glowed steadily.
> Echo Vault: Access Granted (Provisional Neophyte).
> Available Legacy Challenges: 10.
> Next Recommended: #9987 - "Anvil".
> Dao of Flow Integration with Vault Interface: 1%.
He sat up. The cube was unchanged. The Rust Ring groaned outside. But everything was different. The problem of survival had just expanded into a fractal. He was no longer just a bottom-feeder in a mechanical graveyard. He was a student in a graveyard of gods, and his first lesson was not to move, but to stand.
A sharp, hydraulic hiss sounded at his door. Not the normal cycle. It was being overridden from outside.
Before he could rise, the door slid open. Framed in the corridor's amber light stood two figures. Not scavengers. They wore patched but uniform-like gear, with pneumatic muscle-assist exoskeletons on their limbs. Enforcers. Sector G's brutal, privatized law.
The larger one, his face obscured by a rebreather mask, scanned the tiny cube with a disgusted tilt of his head. His voice was a distorted rasp from the vocoder.
"Kaito Ryker. Sleeper. You had a good first haul. The Cell."
It wasn't a question.
"The Recyclers pay taxes to the G-Sector Syndicate for protection," the Enforcer continued, taking a step inside, making the space feel claustrophobic. "A-Rank salvage has a higher tax rate. Fifty credits."
They weren't asking for the cell. They were asking for nearly all his remaining currency. Leaving him with nothing for food, for the next cube payment. A death sentence on installments.
Kaito rose to his feet, his movements smooth, economical. He said nothing. His mind was no longer in the cube. It was on a black plain, facing a perfect, mechanical attack. The Dao of Flow whispered to him. He saw not two thugs, but two currents of aggression. The lead Enforcer was the dominant flow, direct and brutal. The second, hanging back by the door, was a secondary, supportive current, ready to intercept.
The Enforcer misinterpreted his silence. "Don't be stupid, feeder. Pay up, or we break your legs and take it anyway. Makes no difference to us."
He reached out a powered-gauntlet to shove Kaito.
The moment the Enforcer committed to the shove—his weight shifting forward, his center of gravity moving past a critical point—Kaito flowed.
He didn't block the hand. He didn't retreat. He stepped inside the motion, his own body becoming a redirecting force against the Enforcer's imbalance. His hand came up not as a fist, but as a guiding tap on the Enforcer's elbow, accelerating the man's own forward momentum.
The Enforcer stumbled past him, crashing shoulder-first into the rusted wall with a dull clang.
The second Enforcer at the door reacted, lunging in with a crackling stun-baton.
Kaito's perception narrowed. The baton's arc was a vivid, angry current. He didn't have space to dodge fully in the cramped cube. So he used the first Enforcer. As the man rebounded from the wall, Kaito guided his staggered form—a simple pressure on his back—directly into the path of the stun-baton.
ZZZAP!
The first Enforcer seized, muscles locking, and collapsed.
The second Enforcer stared, shocked for a half-second. A half-second was an eternity in the Flow.
Kaito was already moving. He didn't strike the man's head or body. He flowed low, his leg sweeping the Enforcer's planted foot while simultaneously pushing the door control with his other hand.
The Enforcer fell backward, not into the cube, but out into the corridor just as the door hissed shut, catching his outstretched arm. The door jammed, grinding against the limb trapped in its seal. The man screamed, his arm pinned, his body stuck halfway in the corridor.
Silence, broken by the muffled shouts and pained groans from the other side of the door.
Kaito looked down at the twitching, unconscious Enforcer at his feet. He knelt, efficiently removed the man's credit chit, and transferred the 55 credits from his own chit to the Enforcer's. Then he placed the now-empty chit back on the man's belt.
He took the Enforcer's functional stun-baton and his smaller backup vibro-knife.
The one in the door was still struggling. Kaito leaned close to the gap.
"You came to collect fifty credits for the Syndicate," Kaito said, his voice devoid of malice, cold as the void between stars. "You will find the payment on your partner. The transaction is complete. Inform your superiors that further collection attempts will be inefficient."
He stepped back, hit the manual release. The door slid open, and the second Enforcer fell into the corridor, clutching his crushed arm. He scrambled away, dragging his stunned partner, terror in his eyes.
Kaito closed the door. He sat back on the pallet, the stolen weapons beside him. His heart rate had not spiked. The Dao of Flow settled, a quiet hum in his veins.
He had defended his territory. Not with overwhelming force, but with precise, efficient redirection. He had spent his credits to buy a message. He had gained assets.
And tonight, when he slept, he would return to the black plain. He would find Echo #9987, "Anvil." He would learn to stand unmoving in a circle while a storm of perfect violence tried to displace him.
The path was clear. Train in the Vault with ghosts. Apply the lessons in the Rust Ring. Synthesize. Adapt. Evolve.
He picked up the vibro-knife, activating it. It buzzed softly, a deadly, precise frequency. A tool for cutting. For dissection. For solving problems of a very particular kind.
Outside, the Rust Ring continued its eternal groan. But inside the cube, in the mind of Kaito Ryker, a different kind of machinery had begun to turn—ancient, inexorable, and hungry for the data of perfection.