The Federation training chamber reeked of sweat and overheated machinery, its air thick with the labored breaths of exhausted students. Those who clambered from the simulation pods were too drained to voice complaints, their bodies pushed beyond endurance. Mech pilots bore the brunt, their grueling regimen leaving them sprawled across the floor, gasping. Mech engineers and commanders fared slightly better, left to their own devices, but even they were not spared the relentless pace. Zhou Ying, a mech engineer with combat prowess rivaling a pilot, was an exception—forced to endure the same brutal training as the single-combat specialists.
He vaulted from the simulator, his black training suit clinging to his back and waist, soaked through with sweat. As he removed his helmet, droplets traced paths along his dark sideburns, glistening under the harsh fluorescent lights. Compared to his peers, he appeared composed, but the scene around him was grim: teammates slumped against walls, faces flushed or pallid, one retching in a corner. A military medic stood nearby, ever-present—a chilling detail. For mere training, such vigilance was unnatural, a silent alarm that something was amiss.
Ya Ning, his physique robust enough to weather the extra drills, exhaled wearily. He looked less fatigued than the others, though his eyes betrayed unease. "I can't figure it out," he said, his voice low. "This isn't efficient training. Unless…" He paused, his tone turning cryptic. "Unless they've got other plans."
Before Zhou Ying could respond, their light computers chimed in unison—a summons from the lead instructor to the administrative office. Their eyes met, a shared understanding passing between them: Trouble's coming.
The directive was clear—"Report immediately"—and the simultaneous call suggested a formal discussion, not a casual briefing. As they approached the office, Zhou Wei and Yan Jingyi emerged, their expressions starkly different. Zhou Wei's face was a mask of calm, betraying nothing, but Jingyi's was a storm cloud, her eyes dark as ink. Both appeared unharmed, though Jingyi's team jacket and nameplate were conspicuously absent.
"What happened?" Zhou Ying asked, startled.
Jingyi shot a venomous glance back at the office door. "You'll see soon enough," she said, her voice a blade, before stalking off.
"They're trying to boot us from the team," Zhou Wei said curtly, then followed Jingyi, vanishing down the corridor.
Ya Ning's eyes widened, mirroring Zhou Ying's shock. "The instructor's lost it," he muttered. "Kicking us all out?"
The truth awaited them inside. They settled onto the sofa facing the instructor's desk, where the man sat, massaging his temple with one hand, his mouth drawn tight. He looked as burdened as they felt. "You're here," he said, his tone strained. He transmitted a document to their light computers. "Take a look."
Zhou Ying opened the file, scanning it swiftly. It was familiar—a contract akin to the one presented when the military had pushed the MechSync System on the team. Back then, some students, including their group, had refused to integrate such invasive tech. This new agreement outlined an upgraded system, the Mind Matrix, touted as a refined iteration.
"The military wants your decision again," the instructor said. "If you refuse to link your mechs to the new system…"
"You'll force us out of the team," Zhou Ying finished, his voice cool but edged with steel.
The room fell silent, the air heavy with unspoken tension. Ya Ning's gaze drifted to a nameplate on the desk—Jingyi's, left behind.
Noticing his stare, the instructor clarified, "We didn't demand the uniforms or nameplates. Yan Jingyi chose to leave hers."
"So," Zhou Ying said, a sardonic smile curling his lips, "we're being expelled, but we can keep the uniforms and nameplates as souvenirs? Should we thank you and the military for your generosity?"
The instructor's jaw tightened. "You've all contributed to this team. We don't deny your efforts. The military sees your talent—you're exceptional students. But the joint exercise is a team event, not individual. We must prioritize the collective. I trust you understand."
His tone hardened, but Zhou Ying and Ya Ning had no interest in arguing. They knew the instructor was a mouthpiece, powerless to alter the orders from above. Ya Ning spoke, his voice soft but firm. "Is there no room for compromise? You know we can coordinate with the team without the system."
"I'm sorry," the instructor said, meeting their eyes. "Rules are rules. Those who refuse the system can't stay. Because you're key members, I called you here to inform you personally. Others will receive a message and have twenty-four hours to comply or leave." He leaned forward, his voice earnest. "As your teacher, I urge you to reconsider…"
"No need," Ya Ning said, reaching for his nameplate. He placed it beside Jingyi's. "I'm out."
"Same," Zhou Ying said. "Good luck to your team."
The instructor, expecting this, waved them off without a word. They rose and left, their steps quick. A dozen meters down the corridor, Ya Ning glanced at Zhou Ying. "Now what?"
"Pack our bags," Zhou Ying said, his face grim. "They're dead set on this. By the way, when's the last time we heard anything about Janice?"
"Since Death Omen Star," Ya Ning replied. "No one's seen her. Think they're grooming her to lead the system?"
"Doubt it," Zhou Ying said, shaking his head. "Janice's digital brain isn't fully stable—it's flawed. Handing her command would be a disaster."
Ning Hongxue had once told him Janice was a weapon, not a general. Ya Ning frowned, recalling the MechSync's mechanics. The recent training's focus on physical endurance clicked into place. "They're ditching human command entirely," he said, his voice hoarse. "The AI's taking over."
As a command major, the realization stung. The military's move effectively erased the need for his expertise, a betrayal of his purpose. Zhou Ying understood his pain but saw no way to reverse their expulsion. Allowing them to fight outside the system, even as rogues, wouldn't have weakened the team. This purge felt like a message—a warning or a threat. Its severity was unclear, but the implications were dire.
If the Federation extended the Mind Matrix to its broader forces, they'd be outcasts not just from the team but from the entire military. Their careers would stall. Zhou Wei, with his existing rank, was secure. Zhou Ying, a mech engineer, had technical pathways to advancement. But Jingyi and Ya Ning faced bleaker futures.
Minutes later, the four reconvened in a quiet corner of the complex. Zhou Ying laid out the stakes. Jingyi's anger flared hotter—she hadn't considered the long-term ramifications. Ya Ning, seeming to have anticipated this, offered Jingyi a reassuring smile. "It's fine. Worst case, we head back to Lancelot Star and build something new. Think of those old tycoons in the high districts—stable, wealthy lives."
Jingyi stared, incredulous. "You're over this already?"
"What else can I do?" Ya Ning said. "We can't fight the system head-on."
"I'm not settling for some rich hermit life!" Jingyi snapped.
"There are other paths to power," Ya Ning said. "Merit, alliances, wealth, talent—they're slower, less direct, but not impossible. Don't worry, I've got your back."
Jingyi studied him, her eyes narrowing. There was something in Ya Ning's calm, a strange, unsettling confidence that made her question if she'd ever truly known him. "Those are the tame plans," Zhou Ying said, leaning against the wall, half his face cloaked in shadow. "There's a bolder option."
Jingyi raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"
"Rebellion," Zhou Ying and Ya Ning said in unison.
Jingyi's jaw dropped. Zhou Ying's gaze turned contemplative. "There are those who support the military's actions, but others oppose them. We need to find the right allies, and soon."
The word hung heavy—rebellion. It was a path fraught with peril, yet the military's betrayal had left them few options. The Mind Matrix wasn't just a tool; it was a chain, binding soldiers to an AI's will. For Zhou Ying, a craftsman of mechs, and Ya Ning, a strategist, it was an affront to their purpose. Jingyi, a fighter, saw it as a theft of her agency. Zhou Wei, silent but resolute, shared their resolve.
"We're not just talking about the team," Zhou Ying continued. "If they roll this out army-wide, we're done. No ranks, no future—unless we fight back."
Ya Ning nodded. "The Federation's fracturing. Families like the Zhous, the Yans—they're not blind to this. Some will resist, quietly or openly. We need to know who."
Jingyi clenched her fists. "And Janice? If she's not commanding, what's her role?"
"A test subject," Zhou Ying said grimly. "The military's experimenting, and she's their guinea pig. Whatever they're building, it's bigger than the exercise."
The group fell silent, the weight of their decision settling. Rebellion was no idle threat—it meant aligning with dissenters, navigating treacherous alliances, and risking everything. Yet surrender meant erasure, their talents reduced to relics in a system that prized obedience over ingenuity.
"We start small," Zhou Wei said, breaking the silence. "Contacts, information. Lancelot Star's a good base—neutral, connected. We'll find our footing."
Jingyi exhaled, her anger cooling into determination. "Fine. But I'm not sitting idle. If we're doing this, I want names—people we can trust."
"Leave that to me," Ya Ning said, his earlier levity gone. "I've got connections, people who owe me. We'll build a network."
Zhou Ying pushed off the wall. "Then it's settled. We pack, we leave, and we plan. No time to waste."
As they dispersed, the corridor's sterile lights cast long shadows, mirroring the uncertain path ahead. The Federation's betrayal had forged them into outcasts, but also into something more—a spark of defiance that could ignite a larger fire. The joint exercise, the Mind Matrix, the whispers of the Silver Nexus—all were threads in a vast tapestry, and they were determined to unravel it.
On Youdu Star, Bai Sha remained unaware of the Federation's turmoil. Her workshop was a sanctuary, its cluttered benches and humming tools a bulwark against the galaxy's chaos. She pored over material catalogs, seeking the perfect alloy for the Crow's Cry Bow. The eight Yi-Shooting Arrows, their golden tips gleaming, demanded a worthy counterpart. Without it, they were little more than ornaments, unfit for the battles she sensed looming.
The Emperor's request for the vault key lingered in her mind, a reminder of unresolved wounds. Her mother's legacy, the enigma of Bai Yi, and the Lone Light incident were shadows she couldn't outrun. As Crown Heir, her duties weighed heavier, pulling her from the forge to the throne's demands. Yet her heart remained with her craft, the bow a symbol of her defiance against those who sought to control her.
She set down her tools, her thoughts drifting to the Federation team. Zhou Wei, Zhou Ying, Ya Ning, Jingyi—her friends, caught in a game larger than the exercise. Jiang Gui's warnings echoed: her "accidents" were no coincidence. The Silver Nexus, or its proxies, watched her, their motives obscured. Were her friends safe, or had they too become pawns?
A chime from her light computer broke her reverie—a message from Zhou Ying, brief but urgent: We're out. Military's pushing new tech. Heading to Lancelot Star. Stay sharp. Her pulse quickened. The Federation's move was bold, reckless even. Expelling their best for refusing the Mind Matrix? It reeked of desperation—or a deeper agenda.
She typed a reply: Stay safe. I'll dig into this. Keep me posted. Sending it, she leaned back, the workshop's hum a steady anchor. The galaxy was shifting, alliances fraying, and she stood at its heart, a target and a player. The bow would wait; her friends needed her now.
The Emperor's quest for Bai Yi, the Federation's gambit, the Nexus's shadow—they converged, a storm she couldn't ignore. Bai Sha's resolve hardened. She'd forge her path, bow or blade in hand, and those who underestimated her would learn their mistake.