Julius Reyes stared out the viewport as the escape pod shuddered through the void. The wreck of the mining station glowed like a dying ember behind them, its final pulse swallowed by darkness. Beside him, Captain Brinley slumped against the console, every breath a rasp through cracked ribs and adrenaline.
The HUD chimed softly: "Evolution Stage Three unlocked: Instinct Ascendant."
Julius flexed his fingers. Where once his plates had felt rigid and mechanical under crisis, now they hummed with a living warmth. His vision sharpened—he could see Brinley's vitals flicker through the transparent hull, detect minute fluctuations in the pod's structural integrity, and even parse the composition of distant starfields.
He closed his eyes, centering himself. "Echelon," he murmured. "Report."
The suit's voice was calm, but edged with pride. "Host systems optimal. Neural pathways rewired for predictive combat algorithms. Unlocked: Tactical Synapse Network. You can anticipate threats three seconds before they occur."
Three seconds.
A lifetime in battle.
Brinley stirred. "Don't freak out, but I'm picking up multiple power signatures—small craft, fast, converging on our coordinates." She tapped the console. "Looks like Hive drones. They traced us."
Julius braced himself as the pod's throttle flared, veering off course. On either side of the viewport, tiny blips closed in, like hunter-seeker mines. He felt rather than saw them: a ripple in the air, a faint psychic tug. He pointed. "Left flank—two o'clock."
Brinley spun the pod, just as twin drones flashed into view. Before they could launch homing beams, Julius's reflexes took over. He raised a hand—an instinctual impulse—and the suit projected a shimmering shield around their tiny craft. The beam struck harmlessly, splintering against Echelon's barrier.
He exhaled. "Nice."
"Nice," Brinley echoed, punching the thrusters. They weaved through a debris field, the drones in furious pursuit.
"I can disable their guidance," Echelon offered. "Permission to engage?"
"Go." Julius's voice was steady. A spike of phosphorescent energy lanced from the pod's underbelly, severing one drone's control array. The second spiraled out of formation and disintegrated against a drifting truss beam.
Silence fell, punctuated only by the hum of the pod's engines. Behind them, the wreckage receded. Ahead lay open space—and a single, pulsing beacon on Julius's HUD.
"Resonant signal—archivist relay station. Coordinates locked."
Brinley studied the star map. "This station's a dead zone. No civilian traffic, no military logs. Whoever built it wanted it hidden."
"Or to protect it," Julius corrected. "If Vorr awakened one vault, the next archive is here."
She met his gaze. "You ready for another dive?"
He flexed his shoulders. Pain still lanced through his side, but it was a reminder, not a limit. "Let's go find the next vault—and stop Vorr before he reaches Hive Ascension Stage Four."
She grinned, slamming the pod into the relay station's docking port. As airlocks hissed open around them, Julius drew his plasma blade, its edge flickering blue-white. The corridor beyond overflowed with dark, symbiotic glyphs—yet where once those sigils had struck fear, now they felt like challenge.
He took the first step into the station, Brinley at his flank, Echelon thrumming in unison with his heart.
Behind them, the void whispered of threats to come. Ahead, the next vault awaited—its secrets locked in silence and shadow.
And Julius Reyes would meet them head-on.