The med bay felt like a trial chamber. Holt stood near the doorway, his rifle slung over his shoulder, his expression unreadable. Garin paced in tight, frustrated circles, his arms crossed, every movement dripping with barely-contained disdain. Reid leaned against the far wall, his face taut with anger, his eyes flicking between me and the others as he argued on my behalf. Warren stood in the center, silent and commanding, his gaze locked on me like a judge waiting for the accused to break under scrutiny.


    I stood with my hands cuffed behind my back, the cold metal biting into my wrists. My shoulders ached from the awkward position, but I didn’t complain. I kept my chin up, though the weight of Warren’s unrelenting stare made it feel like a struggle just to breathe.


    “This isn’t like her,” Reid said, his voice firm. “You all know that. Whatever happened with Ashly, it was an accident. She’s not dangerous.” He pushed off the wall, stepping closer, his frustration mounting. “I’ve been working with her for weeks now. She’s pulled her weight. Hell, she’s gone above and beyond fixing those systems. She’s proven herself. And now you’re gonna throw her in a cage?”


    “An accident?” Garin barked, stopping mid-pace to glare at him. “She snapped Ashly’s arm like a twig, Reid. That’s not a mistake—it’s a sign of what she’s becoming. And you’re sitting here defending her like she didn’t prove exactly why Lab 3 was sealed in the first place.”


    “She didn’t resist,” Holt said, his voice low but steady. It was the first thing he’d said since the meeting began. All eyes turned to him, but he kept his focus on Warren. “When I got there, she could’ve fought me off. Easily. But she didn’t.”


    “Doesn’t change the fact that she’s dangerous,” Garin shot back, waving a hand dismissively. “Her father’s work was dangerous. We all know it. That’s why Lab 3 was locked, and that’s why you put me in charge after he died—because you knew Knight would’ve kept playing God with things she didn’t understand. And now we’ve got this walking experiment proving exactly why I was right.” He jabbed a finger in my direction, his face twisted with contempt.


    I glared at him, my jaw clenched so tight it hurt. “Don’t talk about him like that.”


    “Why not?” Garin sneered. “You think I’m wrong? Your father’s reckless experiments got Wilks killed, and now we’re all stuck dealing with the fallout.”


    “Oh, fuck off,” I shot back, my voice trembling with anger. “Like you give a shit about Ashly. You don’t care about her—you’re just jealous of my father. You idolize him, even if you can’t stand that you’ll never be him.”


    “Sol, stop,” Warren said, his voice low but sharp enough to cut through the tension. His tone wasn’t angry—just tired, like he’d already anticipated this argument before it began.


    But I couldn’t hold back anymore. The cuffs bit into my wrists as I took a step forward, my anger boiling over. “What happened to Wilks wasn’t his fault,” I snapped, my voice shaking with barely-contained fury. “It was yours. Yours, Knight’s, and Ashly’s. Ashly told me the truth before…” I hesitated, guilt tightening in my chest, but I pushed on. “Before I hurt her.”


    Garin froze, his eyes narrowing. “What the hell are you talking about?”


    “She told me what you did,” I said, my voice cold and steady. “You followed knights lead, even though you condemn her, and gave him the serum, didn’t you? You turned him into a monster trying to replicate my father’s work, and when it all went to hell, you locked Lab 3 and pretended it never happened.”


    “That’s enough,” Warren said sharply, but I ignored him.


    “You’re scared of what’s down there,” I said, glaring at Garin. “Scared of what you did. So what really happened to Wilks? What’s in that lab that you’re so afraid to face?”


    Garin’s face darkened, his lips thinning into a hard line. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice low and dangerous.


    “Don’t I?” I challenged, my chest heaving. “Ashly called them Project Hydra and Phoenix. What the hell is it, Garin? What else are you hiding?”


    “Sol, I said that enough,” Warren said, his voice calm but rising, like the steady warning before a storm. “I mean it.”


    I turned to him, my anger giving way to desperation. “Captain, I deserve to know the truth. Not just about Wilks, but about what my father was working on. Whatever he gave me, it’s not complete—I can feel it. If I can figure out what he was trying to do, maybe I can fix it. Not just for me, but for all of us.”


    Warren’s expression didn’t waver, though there was a flicker of something in his eyes—regret, maybe. He exhaled slowly, the weight of his authority pressing down on the room.


    “Lab 3 stays sealed, Sol,” he said, his tone heavy but deliberate. “This isn’t about what you deserve to know. It’s about what we need to survive.”


    “What does that mean?” I demanded, my voice rising. “Why are you so afraid to open it? Because Garin doesn’t want to face what’s in there? Because you don’t want to admit that locking it away doesn’t make it go away?”


    Warren’s jaw tightened. “It means,” he said, his voice steady but carrying an edge, “that right now, we can’t afford to risk it. This ship, this mission—everything is already hanging by a thread. The Hemlock is still out there, and our people are walking into a salvage op blind because we don’t have enough intel to guarantee their safety. If Lab 3 opens now, if something happens—another infection, another monster—we don’t have the resources to contain it. Do you understand that? There’s no backup. No second chances. We are it.”


    I swallowed hard, his words cutting through my anger. "Then help me understand," I said, my voice quieter but still firm. "You keep saying I don''t know enough, that it''s too dangerous. Fine. Tell me what happened to Wilks. Tell me what''s down there, so I know what I''m fighting against. Why don''t you just tell me what you all know is happening to me?"


    “Because that’s not how it works,” Warren said, his tone softening but still resolute. “This isn’t just about the lab or your father’s research—it’s about you. You’re asking me to let you dive into something you don’t understand, something even Garin doesn’t fully understand, when you’re already changing faster than any of us predicted. What happens if it accelerates? What happens if we lose you?”


    “You won’t,” I said through gritted teeth, my frustration mounting. “But if you don’t tell me the truth, how am I supposed to keep it under control? You can’t keep hiding everything from me and expect me to just sit here and wait to implode!”


    Warren shook his head, his expression unreadable. "The truth is, Sol, we don''t know, not fully. But this isn''t just about you," he said quietly. "You''ve been trying to carry this burden alone, and I understand—I do. However, there are too many unknowns. I can''t risk losing you, and I can''t risk the crew. So here''s what''s going to happen: you''ll stay confined to your quarters until Yates clears you. If you push this further, you''ll go back into cryo until we reach Haven. That''s the line."


    The weight of his words hit me like a blow, and I took a step back, my hands shaking in the cuffs. My chest heaved with a mix of fury and desperation. “You’re just going to ignore it?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Pretend like locking me away solves anything?”


    “No,” Warren said, his tone soft but resolute. “But it gives us time. Time to figure out what’s happening to you. Time to prepare for what’s coming next. Right now, that’s the best I can give you.”


    Reid stepped forward, his voice rising. “Captain, you can’t just—”


    “This discussion is over,” Warren said, cutting him off with a look. “Holt, take her back to her quarters.”


    Holt moved forward, his expression unreadable. He didn’t grab me or force me to move; he just gestured toward the door, his presence alone enough to make me follow.


    As I walked out of the med bay, the whispers stirred in the back of my mind, low and mocking.


    They’re scared of you, Sol. And they should be.


    The thought lingered, unwanted, as I was escorted back to my quarters. The cuffs chafed against my wrists, the cold bite of metal a constant reminder of how little freedom I had left.


    The door slid shut behind me with its usual soft hiss, locking me into my sterile little box of a cell. I glanced around, the faint hum of the overhead lights grating against my nerves. The drone hovered in its corner, its red sensor blinking periodically, always watching. Always there.


    My reflection caught my eye in the warped, scratched mirror bolted to the wall. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make my stomach twist every time I looked at it.


    I stepped closer, unable to resist the compulsion to face the thing I was becoming. My mismatched eyes stared back—one red, one blue—sharpened by exhaustion and something darker. My long white hair, which had grown even longer over the past few weeks, now tumbled in tangled waves all the way down to my waist. It framed my pale, almost doll-like face, the messy strands making my features feel even less like my own.


    The tank top and shorts clung loosely to my frame, my skin almost glowing under the harsh fluorescent lights. I was barefoot, the cold floor leeching warmth from me as I stood there, rooted in place. The sight of myself was a bitter reminder: I wasn’t Sol anymore. Not really. Just a ghost of who I used to be, twisted into something else entirely.


    The whispers stirred again, soft and sweet in the back of my mind.


    Beautiful, Sol. You’re perfection itself. Why hide it?


    I scowled, tearing my gaze away from the mirror and slumping against the wall. My fingers twitched behind me, the cuffs biting into my skin. The ache of my stomach gnawed at me like a second heartbeat, the hunger an ever-present weight I couldn’t ignore. Frustration surged, and I yanked hard against the restraints. Pain shot through my wrists as the metal tore into my skin, a sharp, searing flash that made me hiss. Blood welled up in thin rivulets, only for the wounds to seal themselves moments later, the skin knitting back together as though it had never been touched. But the hunger—oh, the hunger—it roared in response, a clawing, ravenous beast that demanded to be fed, every pulse of it worse than the ache that had preceded it.


    The first few days passed in stifling monotony. The drone hummed around me like a mechanical warden, its red lens blinking at regular intervals, always watching. It wasn’t just surveillance; it was a constant, unspoken reminder that every move I made was being logged, measured, and scrutinized. The tiny room grew smaller with every passing hour, the walls pressing in with the weight of silence.


    When the drone first approached me, I hadn’t known what to expect. Its arm extended, joints clicking as it drifted closer. I thought, for one ridiculous moment, that it was going to speak to me like Yates might, offer something remotely human. Instead, its voice crackled to life, cold and clinical.


    “Is there anything this unit can assist you with?”


    The words hit like a slap. I snorted, my lips curling into a humorless smirk. “Yeah. Take these cuffs off and go throw yourself out the airlock.”


    “Request logged,” it replied without hesitation. “Processing.”


    I blinked, thrown for half a second, before letting out a bitter laugh. “Right. Like Jericho would ever let that happen.”


    Its lens scanned me, the mechanical arm lowering slightly. “This unit is unable to comply with that request. Is there anything else you require?”


    I rolled my eyes, leaning back against the cold wall. “Yeah, peace and quiet. Think you can manage that?”


    It didn’t respond, of course. It hovered there for a moment longer, like it expected me to fold and ask for something sensible. When I didn’t, it drifted back to its corner of the room, its lens blinking intermittently. Watching. Always watching.


    By the second week, the drone’s presence was a needle under my skin, its flat, mechanical voice grinding against the fragile threads of my patience. It hovered in and out of my sterile little world, ensuring compliance with relentless precision. Hydration. Hygiene. Meal schedules. Rules Jericho decided I wasn’t trustworthy enough to handle myself. The only thing it didn’t monitor was the whispers, though part of me wondered if it could hear those too.


    Yates’s daily visits were the only reprieve. She brought medical tools, charts, and study materials—anything to keep me occupied and out of my own head. “Keep your mind sharp,” she’d say, her tone brisk but not unkind. I forced myself to focus on the work, throwing myself into equations and schematics as if solving them would somehow fix me, too.


    But the whispers clawed at the edges of my concentration, murmuring promises and threats I couldn’t escape. I didn’t tell Yates. Not about the whispers. Not about the hunger that gnawed at me day and night. Not about the way my hands twitched behind my back, itching to be free from the cuffs even if it meant shredding my wrists in the process.


    If I told her, they’d never let me out of here.


    The Jericho didn’t have a proper brig, so my quarters had been hastily repurposed into a makeshift cell. Reinforced doors. Constant surveillance. A drone that monitored my every breath. To the crew, my confinement wasn’t just about protecting them from me—it was about protecting me from what they thought I might become.


    And maybe they weren’t wrong.


    The cuffs bit into my wrists whenever I tested them, the cold metal a cruel reminder of how little they trusted me. But I knew—I knew—I could escape if I wanted to. The serum coursing through me made sure of that. The metal itself was unbreakable, but if I had the willpower, I could dislocate my thumbs, rip my hands through despite the agony, and let the serum repair the shredded flesh and broken bones. It would heal, just like it always did.


    The whispers never let me forget.


    They can’t hold you. They never could.


    You don’t have to stay here, Sol.


    But escaping wasn’t the problem. It was what came after. The hunger gnawed at me constantly, sharpening its teeth against my willpower. The whispers would grow louder, the red haze threatening to swallow my vision entirely. The serum wasn’t just changing my body—it was changing me. I saw it in the fear in their eyes when they looked at me, the hesitation in Yates’s questions, and the distance everyone kept when I was in the room.


    If I got free, I wasn’t sure I could stop myself.


    So I stayed. I let Yates come in daily to check my vitals, her gaze flicking to the cuffs but never commenting. She made her quiet notes about the changes she couldn’t explain, avoiding the question of what I was becoming. I didn’t tell her about the whispers, or the itching need in my hands to tear themselves apart in my quest for freedom. If I did, they’d lock me away forever, and I’d never have a chance to fix what my father left behind.


    At least here, in my room or the bathrooms down the hall, I hadn’t seen the yellow-eyed monster. It was a small comfort, one I held onto despite knowing how thin the walls separating us might really be. When it became too much—when the whispers were louder than reason, pushing and pulling at the edges of my mind—I turned to the last of the moonshine Reid had left me. The sharp burn quieted the voices, if only for a while, leaving me in a haze of silence I almost welcomed. It wasn’t a solution, but it was enough to make the nights bearable. Enough to make me believe I still had some kind of control.


    The drone hovered and hummed, managing my existence like I was just another malfunctioning system Jericho needed to troubleshoot. I endured the monotony, letting the routines become a way to ground myself until the bottle ran dry. And every day, I bit my tongue—literally and figuratively—and refused to give in to the voices.


    Because if they knew how loud the whispers had become, how close I was to breaking under their weight, they wouldn’t just keep me locked up. They’d send me into cryo and forget about me entirely.


    Then came this morning. The same hum, the same mechanical greeting, the same cold lens fixed on me.


    "Please," I said, my voice low but strained, as I begged. "Let me do it myself this time. Just this once, you can put them right back on after."


    The drone hovered closer, its polished metal arm extending to present the toothbrush attachment. Its voice crackled to life, flat and unyielding. “This unit is tasked with maintaining hygiene compliance. Please open your mouth to commence cleaning.”


    I clenched my jaw, glaring at it. “I’m not a child. I can do it myself. Just take the cuffs off.”


    The drone’s lens tilted slightly, the red glow of its sensor unwavering as it scanned me. “Non-compliance will be logged. Please open your mouth to commence cleaning.”


    My chest tightened as I swallowed back a sharp retort. The humiliation burned, twisting in my stomach like molten lead. “You know what?” I snapped, leaning forward as much as my restraints allowed. “Go fuck yourself.”


    The drone hesitated for a fraction of a second, its scanner flickering faintly. Then the flat, mechanical voice replied: “Statement logged. Non-compliance has been marked. Please open your mouth to commence cleaning.”


    I barked out a bitter laugh, the sound sharp and hollow in the quiet room. “Of course it’s been logged,” I muttered, leaning back against the cold wall. “Jericho, I hope you’re enjoying the show.”


    The drone didn’t respond. It never did, no matter how much venom I spat. It hovered closer instead, bristles of the toothbrush attachment primed. Resignation settled over me like a heavy blanket, and I opened my mouth, not bothering to hide the glare that could’ve burned through the damn thing if it were alive.


    The bristles dragged over my teeth, and I winced as they scraped against my unnaturally sharp canines. They were longer now—almost absurdly so. The two on top jutted down like a predator’s, their edges honed enough to split skin with the barest pressure. The bottom ones weren’t as long, but they’d sharpened too, jagged enough to nick my tongue more times than I could count.


    Each time they’d grown back after Holt’s punch, they’d come back sharper, hungrier. Every scrape of the bristles against their edges made my skin crawl, a metallic tang lingering in my mouth where I’d cut myself countless times before. The taste of my own blood was something I’d grown sick of, the hunger it stirred in me only twisting the knife deeper into my already-frayed sanity.


    The drone adjusted its angle, brushing carefully around the protruding teeth as if it had adapted to their presence. My nails bit into my palms behind my back as I endured the humiliation, the helplessness. I could feel the ache of my stomach as the whispers stirred again, faint but ever-present: They’ll grow back, stronger. They’re part of you now. Just like everything else.


    My jaw tightened, and I swore under my breath. I could bite the damn drone’s metal arm if I wanted—feel it shatter my teeth into splinters—but what would that solve? They’d grow back anyway. They always did. And Jericho would be watching, logging every desperate attempt at rebellion. I wasn’t about to give it the satisfaction.


    The drone pulled back after a painfully long few minutes, its bristles retracting. “Hygiene compliance complete,” it announced, hovering toward the corner of the room where it would idle until it was next summoned. I glared after it, clenching my jaw tight enough to make those sharpened canines ache.


    "Great," I muttered bitterly, "glad that''s done. Now fuck off."


    The drone whirred off to its corner, finally giving me a moment of peace—if you could call it that. I let my head thunk back against the wall, my jaw aching from the tension I hadn’t realized I was holding. My teeth—those jagged, overgrown monstrosities—throbbed faintly, a reminder of how far I’d strayed from what I used to be.


    The soft hiss of the door broke through my spiraling thoughts, and I didn’t need to look up to know who it was. Yates always came at the same time, her visits a rigid anchor in the otherwise shapeless void of my confinement. I heard the familiar shuffle of her boots against the metal floor, the gentle click of her med bag snapping open.


    “Afternoon, Sol,” she said, her voice as brisk as ever, though it carried a hint of weariness today.


    “Yates,” I replied, not bothering to meet her gaze. My tone was as flat as the drone’s, though I didn’t have the excuse of being programmed that way.


    The silence stretched between us as she moved about the room, her presence as methodical as always. She set her tools on the counter and turned to face me, her dark eyes scanning me with that same clinical precision I’d come to expect.


    “I heard about the toothbrush incident,” she said after a beat, her tone clipped but not sharp.


    “Did you?” I replied, my lips twitching into a half-smirk. “Guess word travels fast when you’re under constant surveillance.”


    Yates didn’t rise to the bait. She just stared at me, her brows knitting together in that way they always did when she was trying to decide whether to scold or sympathize. It was usually both.


    “You’re spending too much time around Reid,” she said finally, a faint trace of dry humor in her voice. “He’s rubbing off on you.”


    “Is that supposed to be a bad thing?” I shot back. “He’s the only one who doesn’t look at me like I’m a ticking time bomb.”


    “Reid thinks duct tape is the closest thing we have to divine intervention,” Yates quipped. “You’re better than that.”


    I barked out a short laugh, though there wasn’t much humor in it. “Am I? Pretty sure everyone else in this floating tin can disagrees.”


    Yates sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she pulled up a stool and sat across from me. “They’re scared, Sol,” she said softly. “And maybe they have a right to be. You’re... changing. Faster than any of us expected. But that doesn’t mean they’ve given up on you.”


    “Could’ve fooled me,” I muttered, glancing away. “I feel like a zoo exhibit with a bad reputation.”


    “You’re not,” Yates said firmly, leaning forward. “You’re a person, Sol. And I’m not going to let you forget that.”


    Her words hung in the air, heavier than I wanted them to be. I shifted uncomfortably, the cuffs biting into my wrists again. “You say that now,” I muttered, my voice barely audible. “But what happens when I stop being one?”


    “You’re still you,” Yates said, her voice calm but unwavering. “No matter what’s happening to your body. And as long as you’re still you, I’ll keep coming through that door every day. Even if you keep mouthing off to the drones.”


    I couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at my lips. “That’s a bold promise, Doc. What happens if I tell you to fuck off too?”


    Her brow arched, and for a moment, the faintest hint of a smile ghosted across her face. “Then I’ll know for sure you’ve been spending too much time with Reid.”


    I laughed—a real laugh this time—and the sound was so unfamiliar it startled me. Yates’s expression softened just enough to remind me why her visits mattered. She didn’t look at me like I was a freak or a monster in the making. She looked at me like someone worth saving, even when I didn’t believe it myself.


    “Alright,” she said, standing and slipping on her gloves. “Let’s check your vitals. No biting, okay?”


    “No promises,” I quipped, baring my teeth in an exaggerated grin.


    Yates rolled her eyes but didn’t comment as she began her routine. Her hands were steady as she pressed the stethoscope to my chest, her movements efficient but not rushed. She checked my pulse, my blood pressure, my reflexes—all the usual. But when her fingers brushed against the cuffs as she reached for my wrist, she paused.


    “Do they hurt?” Yates asked quietly, her gaze flicking to my face.


    “They’re fine,” I said quickly, too quickly. “Not like I’ve got much of a choice.”


    Yates’s frown deepened, and instead of moving on, she pulled a small device from her pocket. Without hesitation, she pressed a button. The cuffs clicked softly before falling away, clattering to the floor.


    I stared at my freed hands, the faint red marks left by the restraints a quiet testament to the weeks I’d spent bound. For a moment, I didn’t move. I just stared, half-expecting the cuffs to snap back into place as part of some cruel joke.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    “You’re free,” Yates said, her voice softer now. “It wasn’t unanimous, but the crew voted to trust you again. Warren approved. Whatever you said in the med bay seemed to stick with him. After the confrontation, he briefed the crew about Lab 3—enough to give them context. He made it clear it’ll be dealt with after the Hemlock mission.”


    Relief crashed over me like a wave, leaving me momentarily breathless. I flexed my fingers, the ache in my wrists fading as I rubbed at the sore spots. It felt… surreal. For the first time in weeks, I wasn’t bound. I wasn’t trapped.


    “They trust me?” I repeated cautiously, skepticism lacing my voice.


    Yates hesitated, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Trust is a strong word,” she admitted. “But some of them do. Reid, Ashly, Holt, and Warren voted in your favor. That’s not nothing.”


    I tilted my head, narrowing my eyes. “Ashly voted for me?” I asked, disbelief plain in my voice. “After what I did to her?”


    “She did,” Yates said, nodding. “She forgives you, Sol. More than that, she argued that you weren’t acting maliciously and haven’t shown signs of losing control since. She also feels guilty about Lab 3—she sees you as proof that things can still be made right. Holt, surprisingly, backed her up. He pointed out that if you wanted to escape, you’d have done it weeks ago. That carried a lot of weight.”


    I swallowed hard, my stomach churning at the mix of relief and guilt. “Garin’s still an ass,” I muttered before I could stop myself.


    “Garin is Garin,” Yates said with a shrug. “He’s convinced you’re dangerous because it fits his narrative. And Jimmy? He follows Garin’s lead—he’s more loyal to him than anyone else. But they were outvoted.”


    I nodded, unsurprised. Of course Garin and Jimmy had voted against me. They’d made it clear from day one that they saw me as a liability—or worse, a monster in the making. What else was new?


    “And Vega?” I pressed, frowning. “I didn’t think she had a problem with me.”


    “She doesn’t,” Yates said carefully. “Her vote wasn’t personal. Vega’s cautious, and she doesn’t rush decisions. She thought waiting longer was safer, especially with everything still unresolved.”


    The knot in my chest tightened. Vega’s pragmatism made sense, but it still stung. “So she doesn’t trust me either.”


    “She doesn’t distrust you,” Yates clarified. “She just doesn’t make decisions lightly. It’s how she’s wired. Her vote wasn’t about doubting you—it was about wanting more time to assess the risks. That’s not the same as Garin’s angle.”


    The distinction felt small, but it was something. I nodded slowly, though the tension in my chest didn’t fully ease. “And Warren?”


    “He made the final call,” Yates said, her expression softening. “After hearing the arguments, he sided with Reid, Ashly, and Holt. He trusts you, Sol. That’s why you’re free now.”


    I nodded again, trying to process the mix of relief, guilt, and confusion swirling in my chest. “Thanks,” I muttered, though the word felt awkward on my tongue.


    “You’ve earned it by playing to good prisoner,” Yates said, her tone firm but kind. “Just remember—trust isn’t unlimited. Stick to the deal. No pushing for Lab 3 until Knight is awake and the other captains can weigh in. After the Hemlock mission, we’ll address everything else.”


    “And if Knight won’t help?” I asked.


    Yates hesitated, her gaze steady. “Knight knows more than she’s ever admitted, and I think she’ll help—if Warren can convince her. But until then, you need to stay focused, Sol. Don’t push. The crew doesn’t need any more reasons to doubt you.”


    I nodded reluctantly, my jaw tightening. “Fine. But if something happens…”


    “We’ll come get you,” Yates said firmly, cutting me off. “You’re free now, Sol. Don’t waste it.”


    As the words hung in the air, the whispers stirred, low and insidious, curling around my thoughts like smoke. They don’t know, Sol, the voice said, deep and resonant, unmistakably his. My father. They think they’ve freed you, but they’ve only set you on the path. My path. Our legacy waits for you to claim it.


    The laughter followed, soft and mocking, the sound digging into my skull. You can’t escape it, my daughter. You never could. The stars will bow, and you will finish what I began.


    I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to draw blood, the metallic tang grounding me as I pushed back against the voice. My jaw tightened, and I muttered under my breath, “Not if I have anything to say about it.”


    The whispers faded, but their weight lingered, pressing down on me like the shadow of his ambitions.


    A few days passed, each one suffocating in its monotony. Though I wasn’t restrained anymore, I stayed in my quarters, only stepping out to use the bathroom down the hall. Even then, the drone followed, its blinking red sensor fixed on me like a silent overseer, always watching.


    To suppress the gnawing hunger, I shoved down ration bars. They were dense and flavorless, but they worked. Without injuries to heal, my body maintained itself, though the constant ache of restraint lingered beneath the surface.


    I kept myself busy, poring over the schematics Yates had left, committing the Jericho’s systems to memory. When the hunger wasn’t gnawing at my focus, I practiced the combat moves Holt had shown me, running through sequences in the narrow confines of my quarters. Muscle memory steadied my mind, each punch and kick reminding me I still had control—even as the whispers taunted me.


    The drone hovered nearby during these moments, and I felt its gaze more than saw it. The whispers slithered through my thoughts. Jericho’s always been a perv, hasn’t it? Watching your every move, judging.


    I glared at the hovering machine. “Shut up,” I muttered, though I wasn’t sure if I meant the whispers, the drone, or the ship itself.


    The day of the mission, the tension in the air was palpable, even from my quarters. I told myself to stay put, to respect their decision to keep me out of it. But as hours dragged by, unease gnawed at me like a living thing. Something felt wrong.


    Finally, I gave in, sitting at the console embedded in my wall. My clearance code still worked, a holdover from my father. Nobody knew I had it—or if they did, they’d long since forgotten.


    I keyed in the sequence, hesitating only for a moment before pressing Enter. The mission feed appeared in fragmented windows: helmet cams, vitals, comm logs. Static crackled through the audio, but fragments of conversation came through clearly enough.


    Holt’s voice was steady as always, giving quiet directions. Reid made an offhand joke, earning a low chuckle from Jimmy. Even Garin’s irritated muttering felt normal. For a moment, I exhaled, tension easing slightly. Maybe it really would be just a routine salvage mission.


    Then Holt’s voice cut through the chatter, sharp and tense. “Picking up movement. Switching to thermal.”


    The helmet cams adjusted, the feed flickering as the display switched modes. I leaned closer, my breath catching. At first, it was nothing but static and shadows, but then something moved. A flicker at the edge of the frame. Too fast. Too big.


    “Contact,” Holt said, his voice low and clipped. “Confirmed humanoid.”


    The comms erupted. Garin shouted something I couldn’t make out. Jimmy’s vitals spiked. Reid’s voice, calm but urgent: “Jericho, override the clamps! We’re pulling back.”


    Jericho’s reply was maddeningly calm. “Override requires captain’s authorization.”


    The feed grew more chaotic. The thermal imaging flared as shapes closed in, grotesque and wrong. My stomach twisted as I caught flashes—elongated limbs, too many joints, skin that rippled unnaturally. Jimmy’s camera jolted wildly before going dark. Garin was screaming orders, but I couldn’t see him. Reid’s vitals spiked again, his breathing audible through the comms as he fired into the shadows.


    “Seal it off!” Holt shouted, his voice nearly drowned out by the sound of gunfire. “We’re outnumbered—need immediate evac!”


    Static swallowed his words. The helmet feeds froze, one by one, until the screen displayed only a single notification: Signal lost.


    I sat frozen, staring at the blank screen, my heart pounding in my chest. The whispers stirred, soft and insidious.


    Do something, Sol. They’re going to die.


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    <div>


    I shot to my feet, the chair skidding back behind me. My pulse raced as I grabbed my pressure suit, hastily pulling it on. I couldn’t sit here while they died—not Reid, not any of them. If they weren’t going to act, I would.


    In my rush, I quickly yanked off my tank top and dropped my shorts, the thin fabric pooling around my ankles. My hands moved on autopilot, pulling the suit over my legs and torso, the snug material clinging tightly as I zipped it up. The thought of my usual ritual—throwing on the loose T-shirt I wore over the suit—didn’t even register. I was already halfway through pulling on the gloves when the door hissed open behind me.


    I whirled around, startled, and froze.


    Warren stood in the doorway, his face drawn and grim. His uniform was rumpled, his sharp eyes shadowed with exhaustion. He held his worn leather jacket slung over one shoulder, its weight seeming to mirror the burden etched into his features. His salt-and-pepper beard, which had always given him an air of quiet authority, now seemed to have more white in it, as though the strain of command had aged him overnight. His gaze flicked to the console behind me, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t comment on it.


    “The mission’s gone to hell, but it seems you already know that,” he said, his voice clipped and heavy.


    I swallowed hard, my stomach churning. “What happened?”


    “Reid, Jimmy, Holt, and Garin—they’re trapped on the Hemlock,” he said, stepping inside. The door slid shut behind him, sealing us in. “The ship’s overrun.”


    “Overrun?” I repeated, dread pooling in my chest. “By what?”


    “Mutants,” he said, his voice low, the word heavy with disgust. “Grotesque, hyper-evolved humans. We don’t know how they’ve survived for so long, but it’s clear they’ve adapted in ways that make them... dangerous.”


    I stared at him, trying to process the words. “I thought the Hemlock was a derelict. It’s been floating out there for over a century—”


    “It was supposed to be,” Warren said, cutting me off. His jaw tightened. “We don’t have the full picture yet, but from what we’ve pieced together, these things didn’t just survive—they’ve turned the Hemlock into a hunting ground. They’ve adapted to the environment, to starvation, to whatever hell they’ve been living in. And now they’re using it against us.”


    “Mutated cannibals,” I said softly, the word making my stomach churn.


    "Among other things," Warren said grimly. "Whatever they were before, the genetic experiments increased their evolution speed. They''re not human anymore. We''ve seen enough to know they hunt in packs. They''re fast, coordinated, and relentless."


    I forced myself to focus, to push past the growing dread. “What about the crew?”


    “Jimmy’s lost a leg,” Warren said bluntly. “Reid and Holt are injured—badly. Garin’s barely holding it together. They managed to barricade themselves in one of the ship’s compartments, but it won’t hold forever.”


    “What are you going to do?” I asked, my voice tight, barely masking the tension clawing at my chest.


    Warren’s gaze met mine, unflinching and resolute. “We’re waking the Royal Guard,” he said firmly. Then, his tone softened, a rare crack in his otherwise steady demeanor. “But we need you, Sol. I never should have sent them in there, and I hate to put this on you... but we’re desperate.”


    The words struck like a physical blow. My chest tightened as the weight of his admission sank in. “The Guard?” I whispered, my voice trembling with disbelief. “You’re serious.”


    “Dead serious,” Warren said, his tone like iron. “We don’t have a choice. The Hemlock’s corridors are too thick for our drones to maintain signal contact. Without it, they’re worthless. The Guard is the only option we have left.”


    The weight of his words pressed down on me, cold and suffocating. The Royal Guard—my father’s creations. His ultimate weapons. Soldiers designed to be unstoppable. And they theoretically would answer only to me now that he was dead.


    “They were his soldiers. How will they react now that he’s gone?” I asked softly, my voice trembling. “What if they don’t listen? What if—”


    “They’ll listen,” Warren said, cutting me off. “They’re keyed to your genetic signature. And don’t forget, even in cryo, they’re not fully unconscious. Cybernetically, they’re always slightly aware. Jericho would have updated them on the situation by now. They’ll follow your orders, Sol. Right now, they’re the only chance we have to bring the crew back alive.”


    I hesitated, the whispers curling at the edges of my mind.


    This is what you were made for, Sol. Show them your worth.


    I shook my head, disbelief flooding my chest. “You’re trusting me with this?” I asked, my voice barely audible. “You know what it means to wake them. After what happened with Ashly, after everything… How can you trust me with that power, after locking me up for weeks?”


    Warren’s jaw tightened, his gaze unwavering. “I know exactly what it means,” he said quietly. “And I know the risk. Vega has made sure I hear about it to no end, trust me. But we have no other options. You said you didn’t mean to hurt Ashly, and I believe you. I think you’re still in control, Sol—more than you give yourself credit for.”


    He took a step closer, his tone softening but his resolve clear. “This isn’t just about trust. It’s about necessity. The crew needs you, and I’m not about to let fear hold us back. Not when lives are at stake.”


    My breath caught in my throat, his words hitting harder than I expected. “What if I hurt someone again?” I asked, my voice trembling. “I still want answers about Lab 3.”


    Warren exhaled slowly, his expression softening, though his shoulders still bore the weight of his guilt. “You won’t,” he said firmly, his voice steady but heavy. “Because I know you, Sol. You care more about saving those men than anyone else on this ship. Your father told me once how much grief you gave him about leaving Earth behind. That’s why I’m trusting you now.”


    His gaze hardened, though his tone remained resolute. “When this mission is over, I’ll tell you everything. Lab 3, the Guards, Knight—all of it. But right now, none of that matters more than bringing our people home. Fixing this mess is my top priority. Fixing my mistake.”


    He stepped back, his voice regaining its commanding edge. “I know you’ll do the right thing, Sol. And in return, I’ll do right by you. I’ve already talked to Yates—we’ll wake Knight and figure out how to handle Lab 3, maybe even find a cure for you. But right now, we’re out of time.”


    I stared at him, my chest tight under the weight of his words and the pressure to live up to his faith. A part of me wanted to argue, to push back against the trust he’d suddenly placed in me. After all, no one had ever handed me control—not Knight, not the Guards, not even my father.


    But deep down, I knew he was right. The mission couldn’t wait, and neither could they.


    Finally, I nodded, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. “Let’s wake them.”


    <div>


    The door to the cryo bay slid open with a low hiss, releasing a chilled fog that curled along the floor. The room was cavernous, dimly lit, and filled with rows of reinforced cryo-pods. Each pod bore a unique engraving of an extinct animal, its design ornate and deliberate. These weren’t the utilitarian pods used for the crew—these were thrones for gods.


    I stepped inside, my breath misting in the cold air. The whispers stirred immediately, curling through my thoughts like smoke.


    Do you remember, Sol? When I unleashed them upon our rivals? It was my masterpiece... and you, my greatest creation.


    My fingers trailed along the nearest pod—Lion’s. The engraved head of a roaring lion gleamed faintly under the flickering lights, surrounded by intricate rays like a blazing sun. I swallowed hard, knowing what this meant, what I was about to do. Memories surged unbidden.


    The first time I saw the guards deployed, I’d been just a child. My father’s voice had been calm but firm as he explained the situation. A rebellion had risen in the Euro-African Federation, a coalition of desperate nations refusing to bow to the mega-corporations. The guards were sent in as a deterrent, but they didn’t just stop the uprising—they erased it.


    I remembered watching the grainy footage on my father’s private monitor: Lion, Wolf, and Eagle moved with brutal efficiency, their plasma blades carving through fortified bunkers as if they were paper. The rebellion’s forces, over a hundred thousand strong, were obliterated in hours. My father had stood behind me, his hands resting on my shoulders.


    This is power, Sol. Controlled. Precise. Irrefutable proof of our family’s greatness. All of Earth knelt. Now, so will the stars.


    My hand moved to Eagle’s pod. Black, angular designs of razor-sharp feathers encased the cryo unit, the engraving of a bird mid-dive etched across its surface. The plasma wing-blades this soldier wielded had been my father’s pride—a fusion of agility and lethality.


    The second time, it wasn’t a rebellion. It was a rival corporation, Ju Wang International, the last mega-corporation resisting Voss Enterprises. I’d been older then, old enough to grasp the stakes. Ju Wang controlled Asia’s resources, from its weaponry to its AI factories, and their assassins had come for Julian Voss.


    The counterattack was swift and brutal. All twenty guards were awakened. I could still picture their march into battle, their glowing visors cutting through the night like fireflies of death. They dismantled Ju Wang’s armies with clinical precision, their plasma rifles and swords carving through millions of soldiers. Cities burned in their wake.


    The Jericho’s prototype AI, still in development, had coordinated the strike, annihilating the corporation’s infrastructure within days. By the end, Ju Wang wasn’t just defeated—it was erased. Voss Enterprises had absorbed what was left like a snake swallowing its prey.


    The whispers pushed again, soft and insistent.


    My masterpieces, Sol. Each one a testament to my brilliance. Yet none will ever surpass you. Show them what it means to hold true power.


    I brushed my hand against Wolf’s pod. Its silver-gray casing shimmered like the pelt of its namesake, etched with jagged, fur-like lines. The face of the pod was adorned with the image of a wolf mid-leap, its jaws wide and teeth bared, captured in a moment of primal ferocity. The plasma daggers stored inside had once torn through the defenses of the South American Alliance, a coalition that had attempted to break free from corporate control. I hadn’t been allowed to watch that campaign, but the stories had been whispered across the globe. A single soldier with cloaking technology had infiltrated the capital city—a sprawling metropolis of millions—during a summit of hundreds of leaders from across South America. By dawn, they were all dead, assassinated with surgical precision, leaving the city in chaos and the rebellion leaderless.


    Now, as my gaze swept across the bay, I whispered their names like a prayer. Lion, Eagle, Wolf, Black Widow, Great White, Jaguar, Viper, Hyena, Grizzly, Owl, Falcon, Bull, Badger, Rhino, Cheetah, Fox, Scorpion, Crocodile, Mantis, Tiger. Each name carried weight, a legacy of destruction and obedience.


    I stepped back, taking in the sight of them all. Each pod was unique, bearing its animal engraving and gilded details. My father hadn’t been a vain man, but he’d understood the value of spectacle. The guards weren’t just soldiers—they were symbols, reminders of a power no one could defy. Their armor had been designed to be striking, almost gaudy. Every detail spoke of dominance, from the clawed gauntlets of Grizzly to the sleek, predator-like sheen of Cheetah.


    “These animals have been extinct in the wild for centuries,” I murmured, my hand trailing over Black Widow’s pod, its sleek black surface engraved with a red hourglass like her armor. “But here their legends endure.”


    My fingers lingered on the engraving, memories surfacing unbidden. I’d met people once—real people, not the sterile, calculated figures of my father’s lab. I was 18, just bold and foolish enough to sneak out and see the undercity for myself with my emergency clearance. The ones I met didn’t know who I was, and for a while, neither did I. We shared stories, food, drinks, laughter... and more. It was the first time I’d felt like a person and not some grand experiment.


    But it didn’t last. It never could. I was still my father’s daughter, and when two Royal Guards appeared to drag me back to the lab, the truth came crashing down. Their fear was the worst part—fear of me, of what my family represented, of the unstoppable machines that had come for me. I never saw them again. Whether it was the guards or the weight of what I was that scattered them, I didn’t know. Maybe I never wanted to.


    Earth was gone, and so were they. I was the only one left to command these ghosts of my father’s vision.


    Warren stood beside me, silent but tense.


    “Do you know what this means?” he asked, his voice breaking the cold silence. “What it truly means to wake them?”


    I exhaled slowly, the whispers curling through my thoughts like tendrils of smoke.


    They will obey only you, Sol. No one else. You hold their leashes now. Command them, and they will bring the galaxy to its knees.


    “I know what it means,” I said softly, my voice steady despite the storm inside me.


    My finger hovered over the control panel. For a brief moment, I hesitated. The power these soldiers wielded wasn’t just destructive—it was transformative. I’d seen my father use them to control a dying Earth, to bend entire nations and mega-corporations to his will. He had declared himself humanity’s king in all but name, and few had dared to challenge him. Those who did didn’t live long enough to regret it.


    Now, the whispers spoke in his voice, insidious and full of promise.


    They are yours now, Sol. The stars, the remnants of humanity—all of it is yours to inherit under your rule. They will kneel, not in fear, but in reverence. They will call you their queen, as they once called me their king.


    My chest tightened. The image of the galaxy bowing at my feet rose unbidden, and for a moment, I let myself feel the enormity of it. The whispers twisted around my thoughts, drawing them closer to the precipice.


    This is your destiny, Sol. Take it. Rule, as you were born to. The Guard is yours, the stars are yours, humanity itself waits for you to claim it.


    “No,” I whispered, barely audible over the hiss of the cryo bay. The thought repulsed me. It wasn’t my destiny. It wasn’t who I wanted to be.


    I pressed my hands harder against the console, forcing my thoughts back to the task at hand. This isn’t about me. It’s about the crew. I’ll save them—not claim them.


    My finger descended, activating the command sequence.


    The room shuddered as the pods hissed open in perfect unison. Cold mist poured out, swirling around the emerging figures like smoke heralding their arrival. One by one, the guards stepped forward, towering over me at nine feet tall—almost an entire person taller than my five-foot frame. Their gleaming armor reflected the sterile overhead lights, each plate and joint humming faintly with energy. Their shoulders were impossibly broad, the armor sculpted to enhance their massive frames, giving them an almost mythical presence. They moved with a fluid precision that belied their immense size, their presence filling the space with an oppressive weight. Even standing still, they radiated an aura of power, making me feel like little more than a shadow in their overwhelming presence.


    Lion was the first to speak. His voice was deep and resonant, laced with an unnatural calm. “Your Highness,” he said, his massive form lowering to one knee before me, bringing him to eye level. His golden armor gleamed, every plate meticulously crafted, and the roaring lion insignia on his chest plate seemed to almost come alive under the flickering lights. He paused, his golden visor tilting upward as if studying me, the faint hum of his suit breaking the silence. “Your hair… your eyes…” His voice carried an almost reverent weight. “So, he gave you the serum after all. Welcome to being post-human.” There was no malice in his tone, only an unsettling acceptance, as if he had known this day would come. “We await your command.”


    Behind him, the others knelt in perfect synchronization, their voices a unified echo: “Your Highness. Awaiting orders.”


    I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms as the hunger stirred deep in my chest. I’d only seen them all awake once before—when my father had commanded them. Back then, their power had terrified me. Now, that power was mine to wield.


    The whispers surged, louder now, almost gleeful.


    They are the sword I forged, my Princess, but you—you are the hand that wields it. Each of them is a testament to my vision, yet none hold the purpose you do. You are my knight, the one meant to bring my will to life. Take up the blade they represent and carve the path to what is already yours.


    I bit down hard on my tongue, the taste of blood grounding me. The hunger flared, sharp and insistent, as the whispers coiled tighter.


    Warren’s gaze was heavy on me, his expression unreadable but firm. “They’re yours now,” he said, his voice low but steady. “Let’s bring our people home.”


    I swallowed hard, the whispers still lingering in the back of my mind like a shadow I couldn’t quite shake. Straightening my shoulders, I let the weight of responsibility settle over me. The crew needed me. This wasn’t about ruling. This was about saving lives. If I had to bear this power, I’d use it for them—not for myself.


    “Guards,” I commanded, my voice ringing out through the bay. “Prepare for deployment. You’re going to war.”


    The guards rose in unison, their armor gleaming under the sterile lights as they moved with terrifying grace. Each step was deliberate, their towering frames radiating unstoppable power. Along the back wall, their weapons awaited—plasma rifles, railguns, and gravity hammers standing at attention like soldiers in their own right.


    As they moved to arm themselves, the arsenal came alive with the hum of energy. A crackling laser whip coiled in one hand, while another gripped a shotgun that seemed to promise devastation with every pull of the trigger. One reached for a massive blade that shimmered with a plasma edge, its glow casting flickering shadows across the room. Every weapon was impossibly large, perfectly attuned to the sheer strength of the giants wielding them.


    Watching them prepare, I couldn’t help but feel the weight of their presence—the quiet efficiency of soldiers who were more than human, each one a living embodiment of a god of war.


    Their armor wasn’t just protection—it was part of them now, fused to their bodies through years of cybernetic enhancement and genetic engineering. Towering over the rest of us at nearly nine feet tall, the Royal Guards were living giants, something more than human yet terrifyingly close. I remembered watching them in training as a child, their movements impossibly fluid for beings so massive. They were legends, not just because of their strength, but because of what had been done to them to make them that way.


    My father had called them perfection. "The pinnacle of evolution and engineering," he’d once told me, his voice filled with pride. And standing in their presence, it was hard to argue. They had multiple hearts and redundant vital organs, their bodies a marvel of reinforced biology. Their bones were strengthened with alloys, their muscles enhanced to deliver unimaginable power while retaining a disturbingly human form. Even without their armor, they were walking tanks.


    And yet, the armor wasn’t separate from them—it was part of who they were now. Miniature hybrid reactors, combining both fission and fusion technology, were embedded into their backs, powering their every move. These reactors were more than just energy sources; they were lifelines, fueling not only their systems but also their augmented biology. Their personal shield generators hummed faintly, always active, ready to absorb the most devastating impacts.


    Even without the seemingly endless weapons mounted on the wall behind them, the Guards were living arsenals. Fusion gauntlets glowed with barely-contained energy, plasma blades extended seamlessly from hidden compartments, and wrist-mounted flamethrowers were primed to ignite at a moment’s notice. Their jetpacks and rocket boots gave them flight, while experimental systems embedded within their frames hinted at capabilities only they—and my father—truly understood.


    And then there were the nanobots in their blood. I shuddered just thinking about them. The bots were constantly at work, repairing damage, erasing toxins, and maintaining peak performance. It didn’t matter if a Guard was burned, shot, or stabbed; within minutes, they’d be whole again. It was terrifyingly efficient.


    The Guards could survive without food or water for years, their armor recycling everything to keep them alive indefinitely. When they did eat, anything organic would suffice—plants, animals, even substances no human would dare touch. They were long-lived, too. I’d once seen a decades-old photo of Lion, taken during the Guard’s earliest campaigns. In the midst of war, his face had been sharp and weathered with experience. Yet when I saw him as a child years later, he looked younger—stronger, as though time itself had surrendered to their design.


    I’d heard whispers of their weapons being powered by antimatter—unthinkable technology that my father had supposedly dabbled in during his more ambitious years. The schematics for such weapons were beyond even my clearance, locked away in the depths of Jericho’s archives. No one dared confirm it, but the rumor persisted: the antimatter arsenal was a last resort, a power so dangerous it had been shelved after testing. If anyone had been audacious—or insane—enough to design something so destructive, it was Julian Voss.


    For all their enhancements, though, the Guards weren’t immortal. My father had always been clear about that. They could die, though it wasn’t easy. One name stood out in my mind: Bloodhound. He’d been the first and only to fall, a casualty of the Ju Wang war that had brought all of Asia under my father’s control. My father rarely spoke of him, but I’d pieced together the story from the records I’d stumbled upon.


    Bloodhound had been caught in the blast radius of a tactical nuke during the war’s final days. His shields had been depleted during the assault, leaving him vulnerable for a brief but catastrophic moment. Even for someone like him, there was no surviving that kind of force without his shields. His death had been a rare and devastating loss, one that had exposed a critical flaw in the Guards’ power systems.


    My father, of course, had learned from it. He’d added a redundancy to their reactors, incorporating fission-based uranium power cells that could kick in during emergencies. These cells ensured that shields could be recharged on the fly, buying enough time for the fusion cores to reignite. It was an ingenious fix, though it had come too late for Bloodhound.


    Looking at them now, I felt a cold knot of unease tighten in my chest. They were my father’s greatest creations, his ultimate soldiers. But they weren’t just his legacy—they were mine now. They answered only to me, and as I stood there, I couldn’t shake the weight of that responsibility.


    Dad, you did so much to advance humanity already... why did you have to do this to them? Hell, why did you have to do this to me, your own daughter?


    My gaze lingered on the details my father had obsessed over. Each suit was a masterpiece, adorned with the emblem of its namesake—a testament to the extinct animals they honored. The etched designs and gilded edges were like trophies, tributes to a world long gone. My fingers grazed the surface of Lion’s pod, the memory of my father standing beside me in the lab flickering into focus. His voice had been calm, steady back then, a comforting anchor in the chaos of the world he claimed to be saving.


    The whispers crept in again like smoke curling through a cracked door.


    I did it for you, Sol, as I left them for you. Do you see it now? They are yours, as is the gift of your changes. The galaxy has never known their equal... until you. But soon, if you follow the hunger, the universe will know something even greater—for once.


    But his voice wasn’t comforting anymore. It was a phantom clawing at the edges of my mind, a twisted echo of what it once was. Whether he’d always been corrupted or the whispers had warped him into this insidious presence, I didn’t know. All I knew was that it was the last thing I wanted to hear.


    My fists tightened at my sides, nails digging into my palms drawing blood. “So I’m just fucking crazy, is that it, Dad? Like father, like daughter?” The words came out harsh, almost a growl. For a moment, silence stretched around me, heavy and suffocating. Then, the whispers laughed—a sound like dry leaves crackling in the wind, soft but mocking.


    My jaw tightened, and I flicked my tongue across my teeth, sharp enough to slice into the soft flesh. Blood pooled in my mouth, warm and metallic, as the cut sealed itself shut almost instantly. The hunger stirred, deep and insistent, a hollow ache that clawed at my insides. I swallowed hard, forcing it back down, but the thought slithered through my mind like a serpent: If any monster should lead them, it should be me.


    I straightened, my gaze fixed on the towering figures as they moved with relentless precision toward the shuttle bay. Each step was deliberate, calculated—a terrifying display of power harnessed to perfection. These weren’t just soldiers; they were monsters, creatures forged for destruction. And now, they answered only to me.


    But I wouldn’t be like my father. The determination settled in my chest like iron, heavy but unyielding. If I have to play the role of the monster you left me, so be it, I thought, my mind resolute. But I will be better than you. I care if they live—even Garin... but especially Reid. I’ll save them because someone has to, and I’ll bear the cost if I must.


    I took a deep breath, steeling myself as I followed the Guards toward the shuttle bay. The hunger and the whispers would wait. The crew needed me, and I’d do whatever it took to bring them home. Even if it meant becoming the very thing I feared.