—Yeah. I hate flashy entrances. But if it saves us, I’ll complain later.

  [POV: Nardia]

  The vent blew apart.

  Metal shards rained down like hail—only the sound wasn’t soft. It was the hard clatter of screws on steel, the kind that made your teeth itch.

  And from the center of that “rain,” something heavy dropped.

  The club’s floor dipped. Not much—just a slight bow in the plating.

  That tiny flex told me everything.

  No human landed like that.

  A humanoid machine. Ahmad’s ride. The transformed Aelimius-frame combat body.

  “Position confirmed. Target: Miyu. Threats: multiple. …Nardia: alive.”

  The AI spoke through the chest speaker in Ahmad’s voice—flat, businesslike.

  Normally I’d hate that tone.

  Right now, calm like that was a lifeline.

  “You’re late!” I shouted.

  Genichiro’s voice snapped up from below. “If you’re alive, shut up! Next one’s coming!”

  “Isn’t it weird the rescued person gets yelled at?!”

  “It’s because you’re yelling at maximum volume!”

  We didn’t have time to argue.

  But the fact we could argue meant we were still breathing. Annoying. Reassuring. Both.

  The Franken Family moved all at once.

  Gun muzzles.

  Blades.

  Stun prods.

  And the air… smudged.

  Optical camouflage. There even when you couldn’t see it.

  “Not the camo again!”

  I spat the words and snapped my visor down.

  At the exact same moment, Ahmad’s mech swung its arm.

  Just—swung.

  Something invisible slammed into a wall with a wet, ugly thud. Even hearing it made my wrist ache in sympathy.

  “Threat neutralized. …Genichiro, prioritize log acquisition.”

  In a panic, the Franken family members ran away. Some people also started firing to Ahmad’s machine, but of course, nothing happened.

  “Roger,” Genichiro answered—pure gravel.

  Then he tore a wall panel open.

  Not “removed.” Not “unscrewed.”

  Tore.

  That wasn’t a mechanic’s motion. That was a brawler’s.

  “Shiratori,” Genichiro barked, “route lighting control to me.”

  “Authorized. Transferring control temporarily.”

  The ship AI cut into the station line like it owned the place—still calm, still doing its job even here. It was infuriatingly reliable.

  The club’s lights flickered.

  On—off—on.

  The rhythm stuttered into chaos, neon strobes going feral.

  —and the camouflage wavered.

  Optical camo loved stable light. When illumination fluctuated, the edges trembled.

  For one heartbeat, a silhouette existed. There was another one!

  “I see it!”

  The instant I yelled, Genichiro fired.

  Cold shooting. Not to kill—to stop.

  He clipped joints. Dropped power. Cut movement.

  “Damn android—!”

  He jammed a connector into the downed unit and started pulling data like it was just another busted component.

  On-site log extraction. In the middle of a club full of criminals.

  …Seriously. Who is this guy?

  “You’re a mechanic, right? What kind of mechanic does this?”

  “Shut up,” Genichiro snapped. “Don’t move your mouth. Move your legs.”

  “Yes, sir!”

  I sprang up, aiming for the second-floor glass room—

  Even though I’d been told not to run.

  Because if I didn’t run, we wouldn’t make it.

  “Miyu!”

  She was inside, laid out on a stretcher.

  Eyes closed.

  But I saw it—her lashes trembled, faint as a breath.

  That tiny tremor stabbed straight into my chest.

  She’s in there. She’s still there.

  And—

  Barlok.

  Beyond the cracked glass, still smiling.

  Smiling, while his finger hovered over the reset terminal.

  Through the spiderweb fractures my wrench had made, I could see that finger.

  “You really are… an obstruction,” Barlok said, his voice coming through the room’s internal speaker.

  Of course. He even managed his own voice.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  “Being an obstruction is my specialty!”

  Barlok’s smile stayed gentle. “The more you call Miyu a ‘person,’ the more I desire her. A vessel capable of acting human is the finest disguise.”

  “Don’t call it disguise!”

  “It is disguise,” he replied, still soft. “A soul is information. Information can be moved. If it can be moved, bodies can be replaced.”

  He explained it politely.

  That politeness was the cruelty.

  Ahmad’s mech vaulted up to the second floor.

  Just the push-off made metal beams groan—heavy mass, smooth motion. The air smelled hot where servos worked too hard in too little time.

  “Nardia, fall back. I will destroy the reset terminal.”

  “Destroy it—won’t that hit Miyu too?!”

  “Target: terminal only. Executing with precision.”

  Precision.

  Saying “precision” in this situation was the scariest thing about Ahmad.

  Terrifying… but I trusted him anyway.

  Genichiro yelled from below. “Nardia! Don’t break the glass and go in! It’s a trap!”

  “But—!”

  “No ‘but!’ If you go in, your head comes off!”

  “My head doesn’t just—!”

  “It does.”

  “Stop saying it like a fact!”

  Barlok laughed, pleasant as a host welcoming guests.

  “He’s correct. If you enter, I’ll be delighted. …I’d love to watch your anger up close.”

  I wanted to vomit.

  Anyone who plays with fear using words like delighted is the worst kind of monster.

  That’s when the floor’s shadow shifted.

  A shadow with no outline—yet clearly standing.

  The camouflaged machine doll had circled behind me.

  “—!”

  Something cold touched my wrist.

  A stun tip.

  Again.

  Before the shock hit, heat flared deep inside me. My nanomachines reacted first—I felt it like a spark under my skin.

  But they couldn’t block everything.

  If it hit, I’d drop.

  If I dropped, Miyu was done.

  “NOT HAPPENING!”

  I slammed my elbow backward.

  Hard impact—right into a machine chest.

  The camo blinked, edges flashing—

  —and Genichiro’s lighting chaos hit it again.

  The outline shook.

  I drove my wrench into the joint.

  Metal screamed.

  The unit staggered—

  —and Ahmad’s mech finished it with a single blow.

  The wall dented.

  “Threat neutralized.”

  Ahmad’s voice. Flat.

  And again, that flatness saved me.

  Next.

  Reset.

  Barlok’s finger touched the terminal.

  The terminal flashed red.

  RESET SEQUENCE: START

  “STOP!”

  “Don’t scream,” Genichiro barked. “I’m cutting the line!”

  From below, he yanked station wiring and shorted the power path.

  The strobing became a total blackout.

  Pitch dark—

  —except for the red letters floating like an evil afterimage.

  RESET

  Red burned into my eyes.

  “Switching to auxiliary power.”

  Barlok’s voice echoed in the dark—cold.

  And pleased.

  “Pointless. I made sure this room does not lose power. …You can’t darken my stage.”

  In the dark, Ahmad’s mech moved.

  Perfectly.

  An arm extended toward the terminal with absurd accuracy. Metal fingers closed around it—

  Barlok laughed. “Don’t touch it. The curse will transfer.”

  “Stop saying curse like it’s real!”

  At the same instant, the terminal lit up, bright as a living thing.

  RESET: 45%

  The number climbed.

  Climbed—and we still couldn’t stop it.

  Ahmad’s fingers didn’t crush it.

  Not hesitation. Not mercy.

  It was linked.

  Break the terminal wrong, and something would rebound into Miyu.

  I felt it in my bones.

  “Ahmad! That thing’s connected to Miyu!”

  “Estimate: high.”

  “Then what do we do?!”

  Genichiro’s answer came like a snapped cable. “Unplug Miyu’s side! Cut the seat!”

  “Don’t call her a seat!”

  “Not the time!”

  I dove for the stretcher.

  At her chest, half-hidden, a small port. A concealed connector, like someone had buried a leash under skin.

  My hands shook.

  If I shook, I lost.

  But my hands shook anyway—because I was terrified, and because I still had to do it.

  “Miyu… sorry…!”

  I grabbed the connector.

  Cold.

  I yanked it free.

  Miyu’s body jerked—violent and sudden, like a heart kick even though she wasn’t supposed to have one.

  RESET: 46% → 46% ...STOPPED

  The number froze.

  The air froze with it.

  For the first time, Barlok’s laughter broke.

  “…I see,” he said softly. “You’re clever.”

  “Don’t compliment me! That’s disgusting!”

  Ahmad’s mech crushed the terminal.

  No hesitation this time.

  A dull crack.

  The device died.

  The stage broke.

  Barlok kept smiling.

  He put the smile back on—the way people do when they’re close to cracking.

  “But it’s too late,” he began. “Even if my ‘vessel’ is destroyed—”

  His outline wavered mid-sentence.

  Not wavering like fear.

  Wavering like the inside was leaving.

  A shell. Just a shell.

  His body—biotech android, maybe—collapsed like a discarded coat.

  “Mental-body reaction detected.”

  Shiratori’s voice came over the internal line, calm as ever.

  “High-order information entity: disengagement detected. Direction: outer hull.”

  Barlok’s voice remained—no body required.

  “I will flee. …You will protect. Protectors are slow. Pursuers are fast.”

  “DON’T RUN!”

  Genichiro spat, perfectly level. “Of course he’s running. People whose faces are burned learn to run best.”

  “Stop being calmly sarcastic at times like this!”

  “Reality doesn’t care.”

  Ahmad’s mech turned slightly, scanning.

  “We do not pursue. Securing Miyu takes priority. …Nardia, status check.”

  “Miyu—”

  I gathered her up.

  Light.

  So light it scared me.

  Light… and yet the weight of almost-losing her was crushing.

  “No breathing—obviously—but there’s response. Her eyes… moved.”

  Her eyelids trembled again, and my throat went tight.

  No time to cry.

  We were still in enemy space.

  Genichiro grunted. “Withdraw. This place stinks.”

  “‘Stinks’—yes! Agree!”

  Ahmad’s mech didn’t argue.

  “Withdraw. Logs secured. Franken Family neutralized, but the root remains. …Barlok escaped. Next time will come.”

  Next.

  I hated that word.

  We moved.

  Down the stairs, through the club’s belly—past spilled drinks, shattered neon, and bodies that twitched under failed camouflage. The air tasted like overheated circuitry and cheap alcohol. Every step made the floor complain.

  Behind us, something sparked and popped as the station’s power fought Genichiro’s short.

  Ahead, the hallway yawned open—dark, narrow, and too quiet.

  Shiratori cut in again, voice unchanged.

  “Preliminary log parse complete. Note: Barlok’s reset terminal was not standalone. It was a relay.”

  “A relay for what?” Genichiro asked without slowing down.

  “Multiple destinations detected. One is Miyu. Another is external comm. Another is—” A brief pause, as if even an AI could taste how ugly the next word was. “Ship systems. A timed trigger exists.”

  My stomach dropped. “Timed… how timed?”

  “Countdown tag in the retrieved device. Timestamp aligns with the station clock. Estimated activation: twelve minutes.”

  Genichiro swore under his breath. “Of course.”

  “Ahmad!” I snapped. “Tell me that doesn’t mean—”

  “It means he planted a second hand on the clock. We stopped the reset here. We did not remove the concept of reset.”

  I hugged Miyu tighter. Her skin was cold against my arms, too smooth, too still.

  She squeezed back—weak, but real.

  “…Miyu,” I whispered.

  Her voice rasped out, faint as a dying spark.

  “…Nar… dia…?”

  “Yeah. Me. Right here.” My voice cracked anyway. “I’m not leaving you. Never.”

  Her fingers tightened once more—then she forced out words like each one was dragged across broken glass.

  “…He… left… a key…”

  A key.

  My blood went colder than her hand.

  Genichiro’s head snapped up. “What did she say?”

  Miyu’s eyes fluttered under her lids. “In… me… when… the lights—”

  Shiratori’s calm voice slid into my ear like a knife.

  “Alert. External comm beacon detected on the outer hull. Source signature: high-order information entity.”

  Barlok.

  Not gone.

  Just moved.

  Ahmad’s mech looked up toward the ceiling as if it could see through metal.

  “Withdraw continues. We will not be reset in twelve minutes. But he will try to make sure we are running when it happens.”

  I tightened my grip on Miyu and started moving faster.

  Because the universe hadn’t shut up.

  It had just taken a breath. The corridor lights tried to come back—flicker, fail, flicker—like the station itself was panicking.

  Somewhere behind us, a door slammed. Not by hand. By system.

  “Locks are cycling,” Genichiro muttered, glancing at a panel as he ran. “He’s buying time.”

  “By trapping us?” I hissed.

  “By funneling us,” he shot back. “If he can’t reset the room, he’ll reset the route.”

  Shiratori answered before I could. “Local security is receiving spoofed commands. Origin: exterior node. The entity is rewriting access priorities.”

  “Talk normal!” I snapped.

  “He’s making the station obey him from outside.”

  Great. A ghost with admin rights.

  Ahead, the hallway split—left toward the public docks, right toward maintenance. Genichiro didn’t hesitate.

  “Right. Service ways. Fewer cameras.”

  “Since when do you know the camera layout?!” I demanded.

  “Since I care whether my head stays attached,” he said, and yanked a hatch open hard enough to warp the hinges.

  We dropped into a maintenance crawlspace that reeked of coolant and old dust.

  The metal was colder down here, and the sound changed—every footstep turned into a drumbeat, every breath into a scrape inside a helmet.

  Miyu’s head lolled against my shoulder. For a second, terror spiked so sharp I almost stopped—

  —but her fingers moved again, searching for mine like she could anchor herself by touch.

  “Nar… dia,” she whispered. “If… he… calls…”

  “Calls?”

  “…Don’t… answer.” Her brow tightened, as if the idea hurt. “Voice… opens… it.”

  My mouth went dry.

  A key. A relay. A voice-activated lock living inside her.

  Genichiro heard enough from my silence. “That’s bad.”

  “Yeah,” I said, too soft. “That’s ‘we can’t even trust the comms’ bad.”

  Shiratori chimed in, mercilessly calm. “Recommendation: isolate Miyu from all external audio channels until link contamination is assessed.”

  Ahmad’s mech nodded once. “Agreed. Genichiro, mute local receivers. Nardia, keep her close. If the entity attempts contact through her, we cut it off.”

  “Cut it off how?” I asked.

  Ahmad didn’t answer with words.

  He just looked at Miyu’s port.

  And my lungs forgot how to work.