The hangar bay's recycled air tastes like metal. Vael's suit hums with a cold memory. His father's voice, a chilling echo, confirmed his involvement in the Fracture Event, twisting Vael's world. He stands in the stark hangar. Harsh fluorescent lights hum overhead. His GRAVEMIND suit feels heavier now, burdened by the inherited truth. He is Pilot Rask, GRAVEMIND-7. His civilian name, Vael Rask, feels like a ghost.
A new voice cuts through his comms. "GRAVEMIND-7. Report to staging area Beta-9. Immediate deployment. New squad assignment." The voice is crisp, female, unfamiliar.
He moves. His heavy footsteps echo on the reinforced concrete. Other pilots stand in small groups, their suits hulking, distinct silhouettes. Ravelin gorebreed. Reaptor gorebreed. Goliard gorebreed. A quick sweep of his sensors identifies their class designations. They ignore him. He ignores them.
The hangar bay is a controlled chaos of supply drops and heavy vehicle movement. SymSuits load onto transport ships. The air vibrates with engine thrum. He steps onto the designated platform. Three figures already stand there. His new squad.
One figure is a Culex pilot. She is shorter than the others, her suit sleek, aerodynamic. Folded wing-blades rest along her back. Her head is pointed, a helmet sealed tight. Specialist Zara Kim, his suit's tactical overlay registers her. Her posture is cautious. He sees a subtle limp as she shifts her weight. A wing-damage trauma. His suit calculates her movement efficiency, her combat readiness. An asset, yes. A liability, perhaps. This thought is cold, dry.
A male Ravelin pilot stands solid, an unbreakable wall of obsidian plate. The third is a Cantor pilot, matte dark gray, already humming with a faint, internal vibration. New faces, same grim purpose.
The Culex pilot, Zara Kim, turns. Her helmet retracts with a hiss. Her face is sharp, tired. Her eyes, dark and wary, meet Vael's. There is no warmth. Only assessment. Her gaze drops to his chest, then his arms. She sees the subtle hum of his neural crown under the suit's helm. She looks for flaws.
"Pilot Rask," she says. Her voice is level, without inflection. "Specialist Kim. Culex-4. These are Ravelin-2, Cantor-1." She gestures. The others offer curt nods. No handshakes. No pleasantries. There is no time.
"Orders are up. Briefing in five." Her helm slides back into place.
Vael's neural crown pulses. A low, internal thrumming at the base of his skull intensifies. It feels like pressure building. A warning. Or a promise.
They stand in a cramped briefing room. A holoprojector illuminates the space with a dull, blue glow. A grim-faced officer, his uniform stiff with military precision, stands before them. Maps of abandoned industrial zones flash across the screen. Twisted rebar, shattered concrete, silent factories. Dead zones.
"Recent Nestwretch gorebreed sightings are up," the officer states. His voice is flat, devoid of emotion. "Aggressive spawning patterns. In these sectors." He gestures to the industrial zones. "We're seeing new nests, faster growth. Larvae infestation is a primary concern."
The words hit Vael with a familiar dread. The psychological weight of the eight pilot trainees brutally killed during their agonizing suit bonding failures, the additional people who fell victim to the Scarp Maw gorebreed during his brutal training, and the twelve civilians slaughtered by the Howlhost gorebreed. And the irreversible transformation of his former squadmate. Death stakes are constant. They echo in his mind.
He hears the officer's words, but his suit is alive with other data. Fragmented images flash behind his eyes. A laboratory. Gleaming steel tables. Vael's father, his face grim, working over twitching flesh. Not his flesh. Something else. The suit's Memory Leak intensifies. Nervous feedback. His vision blurs at the edges. Is this his memory, or the suit's inherited trauma? The distinction blurs.
The officer drones on. "These Nestwretch gorebreed are efficient. Their larvae are virulent. Containment is paramount."
Zara Kim interjects. "Any intel on new variants? Or defensive capabilities?"
"Standard protocols apply. We anticipate resistance. Your mission is reconnaissance. Identify potential Nestwretch gorebreed nests. Secure samples. Minimize civilian contact. Eliminate threats as necessary." The officer's gaze sweeps over them, lingering on Vael.
Vael's suit twitches. The Foreign consciousness stirs within. He suppresses it. He focuses on the map. The lines, the zones. He feels a profound moral dissonance with his new squadmates. They are human. They cling to protocols, to the idea of saving. His own truth, his father's betrayal and the suit's deepening hold, makes human connections seem fragile, dangerous.
He thinks about the whispers, his father's voice, confirming his involvement in causing the Fracture Event, the catastrophe that broke the world open by a synthetic biology experiment gone feral, spreading like a crimson plague. From those dead zones grew the grotesque Gorebreed.
The officer dismisses them. "Gear up. Transport in ten."
They are on the ground. A skeletal city stretches before them, skeletal buildings piercing a bruised sky. The air is still, heavy with the scent of stagnant water and rust. Vael's suit makes no sound. His steps are controlled, heavy. His new squad moves with practiced efficiency. Zara Kim, the Culex pilot, takes point. Her limp is barely perceptible, a slight hitch in her stride. Her suit is built for speed.
The Ravelin pilot, a hulking mass of obsidian, covers their flank. The Cantor pilot, silent, follows behind, its suit resonating with faint, suppressed pulses.
Vael's vision sharpens. His suit's Gravemind neural crown activation gives him enhanced tactical awareness. He sees heat signatures, faint vibrations in the decaying concrete. He feels the thrumming at the base of his skull, a constant pressure. It is not pain, not yet. It is presence. The neural crown growing, adapting.
They move through the narrow alleys. Rubble piles high, twisted rebar like skeletal fingers. The silence is unnatural. No birds. No wind. Just the faint hum of their suits.
Zara Kim stops. She raises a bladed forearm. "Movement."
Vael's suit systems ping. A low-level bio-signature. Skittering. Perhaps newly hatched Scarp Maw gorebreed, or unnerving larvae variants. Small, scouting threats. They keep tension high.
"Two o'clock," the Ravelin pilot rumbles, his voice distorted through his helm.
Vael sees them. Small, scuttling forms, darting between collapsed structures. They are quick. Hard to track.
His suit's Memory Leak flares again, harder this time. A jolt of corrupted data. A flash of his father's lab. The diagrams on the wall. The spreading flesh. His father's face, a look of desperate triumph. It is a fragmented, horrifying vision. It makes his head throb. He shakes it off. He focuses on the present. On the skittering threats.
"Form up," Vael commands. His voice is flat. His Gravemind suit pulses, ready to activate rudimentary group command protocols.
Zara Kim moves. Her Culex suit's speed is impressive. She darts into the shadows, a blur of aerodynamic plating. The small Gorebreed scatter. Her razor talons flash. A wet thud. The Ravelin pilot lumbers forward, crushing a skittering form under his seismic foot. The Cantor pilot emits a low, disorienting pulse, scattering the remaining threats.
It is efficient. But Vael feels no connection to it. Only the cold calculation of a machine. His Identity Drift deepens. He questions his own thoughts. Are they truly his, or echoes of the suit's logic? The suit's unnerving presence is overwhelming.
They push deeper into the industrial zone. More discarded machinery, rusted and silent. The air grows heavier. A faint, sickeningly sweet smell. Bio-matter. Nestwretch gorebreed. They are getting closer.
They reach a massive, derelict factory. Its windows are shattered, its roof caved in. The interior is a labyrinth of rusted catwalks and silent assembly lines. Here, the scent of bio-matter is overwhelming. It clings to the air, thick and cloying.
"This is it," Zara Kim whispers. Her voice is tight. "Nestwretch gorebreed activity confirmed. Spawning patterns are aggressive."
Vael's suit confirms her assessment. His neural crown thrums with a steady, low pulse. He feels the subtle, involuntary hardening beneath his scalp. It is like bone growing. Growing through him. The pressure behind his eyes is constant now.
They move carefully through the factory floor. Shadows stretch long, distorted. Every creak of metal, every drip of water, sounds amplified in the silence.
Suddenly, the Cantor pilot's suit emits a high-pitched sonic pulse. A new bio-signature. Not skittering. Larger. Hidden.
"Movement. Below us," the Cantor pilot states, his voice clipped.
Vael's suit provides a tactical overlay. He sees large, hidden masses of organic material. Nestwretch gorebreed. The source of the contamination. Spawning.
The Memory Leak hits him again, harder this time. Fragmented images of his father's lab. His father's face. Not grim, but smiling. A monstrous, triumphant smile. The flesh on the tables writhes. It is alive. It is learning. The vision is visceral. It causes severe nervous feedback. His vision distorts, white static overlaying the factory floor. He blinks, but it persists. A jarring, brief hallucination of twisted, pulsating organic forms clinging to the metal beams. It vanishes. He is left with a sharp pain behind his eyes.
He hears a name. Not his. A whisper. "Vael." The suit's voice. But overlaid. Distorted. A chilling, fragmented whisper of his father's voice. It is insidious. It blends with the suit's own silent thrum.
This is the core of his Identity Drift. The suit isn't just a tool. It is invading. It knows his forgotten civilian name. It uses his father's voice. It is intertwined with his father's destructive knowledge.
He almost stumbles. The Ravelin pilot glances at him, a flicker of concern. Vael ignores it. He doubles down on control. Emotionless, cold calculation. He is Gravemind-7. Pilot Rask. He is not Vael Rask. Not anymore.
"Proceed. Carefully," Vael orders. His voice is flat. No emotion.
They creep forward. The air grows heavy with a new smell. A musky, acidic scent. And something else. A faint, high-pitched scratching.
"Larvae," Zara Kim whispers. Her voice is strained.
The officer's words from the briefing echo in Vael's mind. Aggressive spawning patterns. Larvae infestation is a primary concern.
Suddenly, the floor shifts. A low rumble. The steel beneath them groans.
A low gurgling sound reverberates through the factory. Eerily close.
Not one. Many.
The unmistakable sound of multiple Nestwretch larvae hatching simultaneously.
They are surrounded.
The ambush is imminent.
Vael's suit systems shriek. Bio-signature overload.
A cold, predatory focus solidifies within him. His father's knowledge, the suit's power. They are becoming one.
The air cracks. The floor buckles.
A massive, unseen body shifts below.
Vael's vision goes white, then red. His neural crown throbs, physically expanding, sharp ridges pressing against his skull.
Something inside him snaps.