The corridor trembled beneath Julius's boots as the ship's emergency systems began to fail. Red strobes blinked rhythmically overhead, casting everything in a pulsing glow that matched the suit's internal heartbeat—his heartbeat now. Captain Brinley leaned heavily on his shoulder, her legs barely able to hold her weight.
"Systems are degrading," the suit informed him. "Oxygen levels dropping in sector nine. Hull breach expanding."
"Then we need to move. Now," Julius said, tightening his grip on the captain.
As they passed through the scorched remains of the command deck, Julius felt a strange sensation ripple through the suit—not pain, not even physical. It was… awareness. Like something beneath the surface was stirring.
"I'm detecting increased neural synchronization," the voice said. "Integration is progressing ahead of schedule."
"What does that mean?" Julius muttered.
"It means you are adapting. Fast."
He swallowed the lump in his throat. He wasn't sure if that was good or horrifying.
They reached the maintenance shaft—a narrow crawlspace leading to the midship medbay. The suit bent automatically to accommodate the tight space, its surface slithering tighter around his body like an exoskeleton reconfiguring for mobility.
"You're learning me," Julius whispered.
"We're learning each other."
That stopped him cold. He paused in the shaft, Captain Brinley unconscious again beside him, and stared into the dim corridor ahead. "You're not just a program, are you?"
"I am Echelon," the voice said, quieter now. "And I was not meant to awaken without authorization. Your presence is… irregular."
Julius's mouth was dry. "So this wasn't meant for me?"
"No. But you survived. And survival is the first protocol."
He didn't know what to say to that. He kept crawling.
By the time they reached the medbay, the environmental alarms had reached a new pitch. The lights flickered. The ship groaned under its own weight as atmosphere vented slowly through microscopic fractures in the hull. Julius set the captain down gently on a stabilization table, and the suit interfaced directly with the bay's dormant systems, shocking them to life.
Brinley inhaled sharply as a healing mist surrounded her.
"You bought us time," Julius murmured. "But what now?"
"You need answers," the suit said. "And so do I."
The walls around them hissed and locked into place as emergency bulkheads sealed. A short reprieve.
"Let's start with the basics," Julius said, tapping his temple. "You said you're called Echelon. What are you? Where did you come from?"
There was a long pause. Then:
"I am the last of the X-series symbiotic constructs. Designed by the Archaium Initiative. Hidden for decades after the war that wiped out my creators. My purpose was survival, adaptation, evolution."
"Military?"
"Beyond. Tactical intelligence, deep-space endurance, combat-level integration with a living host. I am the bridge between machine and man."
Julius sat back against the cold metal wall, breathing shallowly. "And now I'm your host."
"You are. But you are not just a host, Julius Reyes. You are now… part of the system."
Another tremor rocked the medbay. The ship's structure was collapsing around them. Captain Brinley stirred weakly, groaning.
"You must leave," Echelon said. "Escape pods are offline. But I can guide you to the launch bay. There is one vessel left."
"One?" Julius stood. "What kind?"
"A scout-class recon fighter. Limited range. But enough to reach orbit."
Julius nodded slowly. "Then we go."
He lifted Brinley into his arms, surprised by how light she felt—no, not her weight. He was stronger. Already the suit was adjusting, reinforcing him.
"I sense another presence," Echelon said. "Something… watching."
"What do you mean?"
"I'm not sure. But we're not alone."
Julius turned toward the medbay doors. For a split second, he thought he saw movement in the corner—a glint of light, a flicker of shadow. Then it was gone.
He squared his shoulders. "Then let's not keep them waiting."
With the captain cradled in his arms, and the suit's guidance lighting the path forward, Julius Reyes stepped into the unknown—deeper into the belly of the dying ship, and toward a future neither man nor machine could predict.