Yellow leaned heavily against the cold, metallic wall, her breaths coming in shallow, uneven gasps. Her body trembled, unsteady from the sheer force of the blow that had hurled her into the unforgiving surface. The red overlay of her suit flickered erratically, each sputter accompanied by a sharp crackle of unstable Grid energy. Across the armored plates, fractures spread like spiderwebs, a visible testament to the relentless punishment her suit had endured. The shimmering aura surrounding her flickered weakly, dimmed in the areas where the damage was most severe. Her shoulder bore the worst of it—a deep gouge exposing the raw circuitry beneath, its faint sparks a cruel reminder of her vulnerability.
A faint hum filled the air, heralding the suit's attempt to transition back to its default configuration. Slowly, the failing red light yielded to the soft, golden glow of her standard yellow armor. Yet the shift was far from seamless—lines of energy stuttered and skipped, and the suit pulsed unevenly as it struggled to stabilize. Each pulse sent a faint heat coursing through her body, as though the suit itself were reminding her that it hadn't given up, even in its compromised state. But the yellow aura, though familiar, lacked its usual brilliance, dimming conspicuously around the damaged shoulder and her aching lower back.
She clutched at her injured shoulder, where the pain stabbed the sharpest, and tried to steady herself. Her legs, however, refused to cooperate. Every muscle ached from the impact, a persistent throb accompanying the faint burn of residual energy from Blood Plague's strike. Even though the simulation had paused, there was no comfort to be found. The hulking figure of Blood Plague loomed before her, frozen mid-swing, his massive axe suspended in a grotesque tableau of near-death. The sight was unnervingly vivid, a cruel reminder of just how close she'd come to being utterly overwhelmed.
The hum of the simulator room's systems buzzed faintly in her ears, a distant sound against the pounding of her pulse. She knew, intellectually, that the room wasn't designed to be lethal. But the sharp ache in her shoulder and the trembling in her legs told a different story. It wasn't supposed to kill, yet she felt as if she'd brushed against the edge of something irreversibly dangerous. Accidents could happen, especially in a program like this—designed not just to challenge but to emulate chaos, unpredictability, and mortal peril.
Her knees buckled, and she slid an inch down the wall before catching herself. Her fingers scraped against the cold metal, her trembling hands struggling to maintain their grip. Small and exposed, she fought against the rising hum of panic in her chest, every shaky breath an act of defiance against her body's betrayal.
Then, the air shifted. It wasn't just the sterile hum of the simulation anymore—there was something softer, more familiar. A faint bioluminescent glow drew her attention, and she looked up to see Echo materialize a few steps away. His translucent, sleek form was distinctly humanoid, yet unmistakably Aquitarian. His features mirrored Yellow's own species, though subtly augmented with traits unique to his existence as an AI. The shifting tones of his color-changing "skin" mimicked the patterns of her people, flowing through soothing hues of oceanic blues and greens, faintly tinged with the silvery luminescence of his eyes.
Echo moved with a deliberate, unhurried grace, as though the chaos of the battlefield frozen around them had no bearing on him. His voice, warm and resonant, broke the silence as he knelt beside her. "An ordeal," he murmured, his silver eyes meeting hers with quiet empathy. "But you're still here. Still standing."
Yellow let out a shaky breath, her hand slipping from her injured shoulder as her head drooped slightly. "I don't feel like I'm here," she admitted, her voice trembling. "I feel like I'm falling apart."
Echo's expression softened, his bioluminescent tones shifting to a faint, reassuring yellow that mirrored the glow of her armor. "You're not falling apart," he said gently. "You're adjusting. That's different."
His presence had an almost immediate effect, calming her frayed nerves. The trembling in her hands eased, and the erratic flickering of her armor dimmed as the yellow aura began to stabilize. Faint scars in the light betrayed where the damage lingered, but for the moment, she felt marginally steadier. Echo's form brightened subtly, and he extended a hand toward her, a gesture of quiet encouragement.
But Yellow didn't take it. Her fingers remained clenched against the wall, her legs refusing to lift her weight. "I… I can't stand," she whispered, frustration lacing her words. "I want to, but I can't."
Echo tilted his head slightly, his voice patient and soothing. "That's fine," he said softly. "Take your time."
She exhaled slowly, allowing his calm presence to wash over her like a balm. Leaning her head back against the wall, her gaze drifted to Blood Plague's frozen form. "Time," she murmured, "is the one thing I don't think I have."
The sharp shift in the air around her snapped her focus away from her trembling form. A faint electric charge rippled through the room, prickling against her skin like static. Nova's arrival was precise and deliberate, her presence cutting through the simulation's stillness with an undeniable authority. Her projection flared briefly before coalescing into her sharply defined, almost intimidating form.
Nova's features were striking, her holographic appearance an almost exaggerated version of perfection. Her olive-toned skin radiated a flawless, healthy glow, complemented by sharp, angular cheekbones and a nose with just enough aquiline curve to convey authority. Thick, jet-black hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail, its holographic sheen catching the faint light of the simulation room. Her athletic build, reminiscent of a gymnast or CrossFit champion, was clad in a sleek recreation of the Ranger suit underlay—a form-fitting ensemble of black and silver threads that pulsed faintly with glowing energy lines, in sync with the room's ambient hum.
The stark contrast between Nova's polished, commanding presence and Yellow's battered, trembling frame couldn't have been more pronounced. Though Nova's projection seemed unconcerned with her appearance, the sheer perfection of her form amplified the unyielding air of discipline she carried. Every movement was deliberate, precise, a calculated extension of her will.
Her sharp gaze swept across the scene, lingering briefly on Blood Plague's suspended form before settling on Yellow. "Stand up, darling," she commanded, her tone clipped and unyielding. "This posture is unbecoming of a Ranger. Let's not add poor form to today's list of failures."
Yellow's lips moved, but no words emerged. She stayed rooted to the spot, her body defying her mind's commands. Her legs quaked, the ache in her shoulder flaring with sharp, insistent pulses. The effort of merely remaining upright left her leaning heavily against Echo, who shifted his bioluminescent hues to a calming blue in response to her distress.
Finally, she managed to find her voice, though it wavered. "Why are you even here?" she asked, her tone colored by confusion and a faint edge of frustration. "I thought you'd be with Blue."
Nova's dark eyes narrowed, her gaze sharpening as if dissecting the question itself. "Pink is with him," she replied, her tone laced with an undercurrent of irritation. "And while her attachment to him is… excessive, I have no doubt she'll protect him with every fiber of her being." A thin line formed across her lips, betraying a flicker of disapproval. "If anyone is at risk right now, it's the people around her—not him."
For a moment, the faintest trace of tension broke Nova's otherwise unyielding expression. She added, almost begrudgingly, "Though Pink's current state of excitement is… concerning. That's something Blue will have to address when he wakes."
Yellow shifted uncomfortably, the tremble in her legs worsening as she processed Nova's words. "If he's fine, then… why here? Why me?"
Nova's expression hardened further, her voice cooling to an almost surgical precision. "Because you shouldn't even be in this program." She straightened to her full height, her posture exuding an almost imperious authority. "For ten years, there was no need to mark these scenarios private. Blue was the only active Ranger. Non-Ranger personnel used simulators at operations centers or military camps across the Alliance. But this program?" She gestured sharply toward the frozen battlefield surrounding them. "This was built for him—tailored to his exact requirements."
Echo's glow flickered faintly as he interjected, his tone calm yet resolute. "She doesn't need your permission to run a program, Nova."
Nova's gaze snapped to him, a spark of irritation crossing her otherwise calculated demeanor. "No, but I would have appreciated the courtesy of being informed," she replied, her words clipped. "I wouldn't have denied her request, of course—but I would have adjusted the parameters to ensure she didn't spend the entire simulation flirting with disaster."
Yellow's lips parted, but her throat caught. The accusation stung—not because it was unwarranted, but because it struck too close to the truth. She didn't require Nova's approval, yet skipping that step now seemed like an oversight, given the AI's pointed criticism.
Nova sighed, the faintest crack in her perfectly composed exterior revealing her irritation. "The pause function is a courtesy—a three-minute window to answer a call or respond to an emergency. It doesn't care if you're still recovering. You've already burned two of those minutes."
Yellow's stomach twisted as the implications hit her like a fresh wave of nausea. If the simulation resumed, she wouldn't make it more than a few steps before Blood Plague obliterated her.
Nova raised a finely arched brow, her tone edged with faint amusement. "From where I'm standing, it doesn't look like you'd have made it to the exit in time."
The remark sparked something defiant in Yellow. She gritted her teeth, frustration boiling over as she forced her legs to respond. Each attempt sent violent tremors through her limbs, the pain in her shoulder escalating with every effort. Nova's unyielding tone fanned the flicker of determination into a blaze, and Yellow pushed harder. With Echo's steadying hand, she managed to rise, though she swayed precariously, her weight leaning heavily against him.
"There," Nova said, her lips curving into a faint, humorless smile. "Now, that's a start."
Nova exhaled sharply, her expression resetting to its usual sharp precision. "Let's talk about why you're standing here, barely intact, and what that means for your so-called performance," she said, her words as cold as the room's sterile hum. A flick of her wrist summoned dozens of glowing holographic screens that materialized in the air around them. Rows of data, charts, and performance metrics filled the projections, their harsh red hues casting an unforgiving light over the simulation room.
"This program wasn't designed for you," Nova began, pacing with deliberate control as the data rearranged itself into timelines and score breakdowns. "It was designed to teach Blue how to step into your shoes—and the shoes of every other Ranger. To ensure that if he found himself alone, he could compensate for each of you, adapt to your abilities, and lead with the precision expected of a Ranger commander."
Her sharp gaze settled on Yellow, narrowing slightly as she continued. "And yet here you are, trying to wear someone else's mantle without the preparation to back it up. Let's break down your failures, shall we?"
With another flick of her wrist, Nova expanded one of the screens into a detailed map of the simulation's medical wing. Yellow's stomach sank as she recognized the scene: stasis tanks abandoned, medical consoles untouched, and chaotic movements across the battlefield.
"The first and most glaring issue: the medical teams," Nova said bluntly. The screen replayed the events in cold, clinical detail. Yellow's forces hesitated at key moments, scattered and overwhelmed, while critical resources remained unused. "You failed to deploy additional reinforcements to the medical wing. This resulted in total failure to evacuate prisoners and stasis patients. They never left the battlefield. Their intel, their survival—all of it lost."
The screen zoomed in, highlighting rows of flashing data drives left behind. "You also neglected to secure the data drives. Let me remind you what was on them: critical intelligence on Elvanurus experiments, fallback locations, and straggler movements. Data that could have pinpointed hidden fallout zones, giving Earth the opportunity to preemptively strike before regrouping enemies could attack again."
Nova's voice dropped, each word colder than the last. "Without that intel, Earth remains blind to those threats. No warning. No defenses. A vulnerable Earth without Rangers to protect it."
The map faded, replaced by a stark timeline that highlighted moments of hesitation in glowing red. Nova gestured toward it, her tone sharp and unrelenting. "At the start of the simulation, you hesitated for five seconds before issuing your first command. Five seconds of silence where you might have rerouted support or stabilized your forces. Five seconds where the battlefield shifted beyond your control. That cost you 11% of your overall score."
Yellow's hesitation cost her again. Nova's sharp tone sliced through the room as another screen illuminated, displaying a group of simulated soldiers overwhelmed near a terminal. Nova pointed to it, her voice hardening. "And then there's your failure to manage logistics. Black's shock troops were pinned down, waiting for reinforcements you never sent. Those automated platforms you failed to redeploy? They were critical to holding his position and buying him time to recover ground. That oversight cost you 18% in resource management efficiency."
The holograms shifted, now displaying Pink's sniper teams. The projection highlighted their movement—abandoning critical chokepoints to pursue distant, low-priority targets. Nova's tone turned even sharper. "Pink's teams," she said, her words biting, "were under your command. You allowed them to abandon vital posts, leaving key areas undefended. Do you know what that lapse led to?" She gestured toward another flashing marker on the map. "The loss of two fallback positions. Red wouldn't have allowed it. That failure cost you another 22% in team cohesion."
Yellow's fists clenched at her sides. Her voice cracked as she finally spoke, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I was trying to keep up," she said quietly, the tremor in her voice betraying her vulnerability. "It all came so fast—"
"And it always will," Nova interrupted coldly, her tone devoid of sympathy. "That's the battlefield, Yellow. Chaos doesn't wait for you to find your footing."
With a flick of her wrist, Nova summoned the summary screen. Bold red numbers glared from its center: 15%. The figure hovered in the air, an unflinching indictment.
"This score," Nova said, stepping closer, her tone sharper than before, "is below the minimum threshold for command school entry. It isn't just a failure—it's an indictment. You didn't just fail to lead; you failed to grasp the weight of the mission itself."
Yellow's breathing quickened, her chest rising and falling in uneven bursts. Her eyes remained fixed on the damning number, a heavy knot forming in her stomach. Beside her, Echo's bioluminescent glow shifted to a steady, calming blue. He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, anchoring her against the tide of doubt threatening to overwhelm her.
Nova folded her arms, her dark gaze bearing down on Yellow. "If this were real," she continued, her words cutting, "you wouldn't just lose. You'd cost every other Ranger their lives. And more than that, you'd doom Earth to a future without protection, without preparation."
Yellow's voice cracked as she whispered, "I'm not Red."
"No," Nova replied, her tone colder than the room's lifeless hum. "You're not. And this program wasn't built to teach you to be her. It was built to teach Blue the weight of every decision, every hesitation, every failure. By stepping into each of your roles, he didn't just learn your abilities—he learned your burdens. He learned to lead and take responsibility as Red would. He learned to hold the line as Black would and surge forward when it mattered most. He learned to set ambushes, target key locations, and exploit vulnerabilities as Pink would. And he learned to bide his time, maneuver, and strike at the most critical points—as you would."
Nova's gaze sharpened, her words hanging heavily in the air. "That's what these simulations were designed for: to instill awareness, not just survival."
Yellow steadied herself, her breathing slowing as she rubbed her shoulder. The nanites in her suit had completed their repairs, and her yellow aura pulsed faintly but consistently. Yet the weight of her thoughts lingered. She exhaled sharply, her voice low but steady. "Nova," she began, her tone quieter. "I need to be honest about why I'm here. I've been holding onto this since Ceres."
Nova's holographic form remained still, her dark eyes narrowing slightly. She folded her arms, her posture rigid. "You're here because of what you said at the tribunal," she said coldly. "Because you accused Blue of sabotage and betrayal."
Yellow's fists tightened at her sides. "I saw him," she said bluntly. Her voice carried the weight of old wounds. "When Black's quadrant fell, when the reactor core didn't overload. I saw Blue. He was standing with Blood Plague, triggering the alarms. He left us exposed."
Nova's expression remained neutral, though her clipped tone carried an edge. "You've made your accusations clear, Yellow. And they're as misguided now as they were then."
Yellow hesitated, her voice dropping to a quieter, more vulnerable register. "The footage doesn't make sense. What I saw—what I experienced—doesn't align with what was recorded. None of it matches. But I need to know what he was really doing."
Nova exhaled sharply, her irritation evident as she gestured toward the simulation. "Then pay attention," she said curtly. "I'll show you."
The battlefield dissolved into motes of light, replaced by the bio-organic interior of the Duskmourn. The walls pulsed faintly with glowing, rippling patterns, their colors shifting through muted greens and blues. Marines and engineers were strapped into bio-organic seats that seemed to grow out of the ship itself, their bodies glowing faintly in rhythm with the living vessel.
Nova's tone shifted, her irritation fading into clinical precision. "This is the Duskmourn," she explained. "An Edenite infiltrator designed for high-risk missions. It wasn't just a ship—it was a lifeline. Before deployment, it prepared its passengers for the reactor environment by filtering their blood, super-oxygenating it, and lacing it with glycogen, adrenaline, and fight-or-flight hormones."
Yellow's brow furrowed as her eyes darted across the chamber. "It altered their blood?"
Nova nodded. "Every Edenite ship is alive, Yellow. Each one is grown with a specific purpose, just like every individual in their hive caste system. The Duskmourn wasn't just a transport—it was a survival mechanism. It ensured its passengers were optimized for combat, heightening their reaction times, strength, and endurance."
She gestured to the glowing, rhythmic walls. "But the Duskmourn is more than just a tool. Like all Edenite ships, it evolves. It adapts to protect its passengers. Its purpose is tied to its experiences—its survival requirements, its passengers' needs. A ship like this could evolve into a colony vessel, designed to sustain life indefinitely. Or it could become a military cruiser, enhancing its defensive and offensive capabilities to safeguard its crew."
Yellow tilted her head slightly, unease mingling with curiosity. "It decides its purpose based on its experiences?"
"Exactly," Nova replied. "Edenite ships are as much a part of their hive as the people who pilot them. The Duskmourn records the biological and emotional imprints of everyone who travels within it. It learns from those experiences, using them to determine what it needs to become."
Nova gestured toward one of the marines, their holographic form faintly pulsing in rhythm with the ship's glowing walls. "While the Duskmourn transported them, it synchronized with their biological rhythms. Their thoughts, emotions, and complete memories became part of the ship. The Duskmourn evolves through these imprints, fully absorbing the experiences of its passengers. This isn't just about survival—it's about transformation."
Yellow's gaze lingered on the pulsating walls, her voice soft, almost reverent. "So the ship has… everything? Every memory, every feeling, every thought?"
"Yes," Nova replied curtly. "Nothing is left out. The Duskmourn records its passengers in totality. That's how it grows. That's how it decides what it needs to become next—whether it's a combat vessel, a colony transport, or something entirely new."
Yellow exchanged a glance with Echo, his steady bioluminescent glow reflecting her rising curiosity. His voice carried a measured weight as he asked, "If Blue traveled on the Duskmourn, then every memory he had before the mission would also be part of the ship."
Yellow's breath hitched, realization striking her. "Everything… including whether or not he had any doubts. Or worse, if he intended to betray us."
Echo nodded slightly. "It would all be there—a full record, clear and unaltered. No distortions."
Nova turned sharply, her dark eyes locking onto Yellow and Echo. "Yes, the Duskmourn would have those memories. But it wouldn't include anything from after the mission."
Yellow blinked, thrown off guard. "What? Why not?"
"Because Blue didn't return to the Duskmourn after completing his initial objectives," Nova explained, her tone clinical. "While the rest of the incursion team fell back, Blue stayed behind to assist the Rangers. The ship's memory ends the moment he disembarked."
Yellow frowned, steadying herself as she spoke more quietly. "But he's used the Duskmourn since then, hasn't he?"
Nova's lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes. In the years that followed, Blue used this particular ship on multiple occasions. The Duskmourn would have absorbed memories from those missions, but they would have no bearing on the events at Ceres. Those memories are entirely separate."
Yellow clenched her hands at her sides, her gaze returning to the simulation. "Then we're only looking at what it recorded from the Ceres mission. The engineers, the marines, their experiences…"
"Yes," Nova said briskly. "The engineers and marines could provide clarity on any anomalies they witnessed. Their accounts are as reliable as Ranger helmet cams—perhaps even better. Unlike your team, their connections weren't linked to the Grid disruption, so their memories remained unaffected."
Yellow frowned, her thoughts racing. "So the ship holds an unaltered account of what they saw?"
"Precisely," Nova confirmed. "Their memories, emotions, and perceptions are preserved in the Duskmourn's biological matrix. Every reaction, every instinct, every detail they processed is there. If there's something suspicious—or anything that contradicts your footage—it would be in those cores."
Yellow leaned back against the cold metal wall of the simulation room, her suit's faint glow pulsing softly. Nova's words hung heavy in her mind, the weight of the revelation settling alongside years of unresolved doubts. The Duskmourn's memory cores—locked and inaccessible without an Edenite to interpret them—might contain the proof she needed. Proof of what really happened on Ceres.
She tapped her communicator, its faint chime echoing in the stillness of the room. After a moment, Black's voice came through, steady but slightly strained. "Yellow."
She hesitated, surprised by the steadiness of her own voice. "Black. I'm going over the Ceres mission."
There was a long pause, punctuated by the faint clatter of weights being racked in the background. "Why now?" he asked, his tone neutral but edged with wariness.
"I need your help," she admitted, inhaling deeply before continuing. "There's something we might've overlooked—something that could change everything." Her voice steadied further. "The Duskmourn's memory cores. They hold everything the engineers and marines saw, felt, and thought during the mission. Complete biological accounts, unfiltered."
There was no immediate reply. Bastion's voice broke the silence, calm and grounding. "And you want Black to retrieve it."
"Yes," Yellow said firmly. "The Alliance never accessed the cores. We didn't even think to. Nova said they're locked without an Edenite to translate, but if we can get them to the right people, we might finally have the full picture."
Black exhaled heavily on the other end, the faint sound of him wiping his hands audible. "I've been avoiding the medical wing," he admitted, his voice quieter. "It's… hard being there. But this? If it's important, if it helps—"
"It is," Yellow interrupted gently. Her voice softened, carrying an edge of determination. "It's the closest thing to an unaltered truth we'll get. No cameras, no Grid distortions. Just their memories."
Another pause followed before Bastion spoke again, this time with quiet determination. "Then it's settled. Black and I will retrieve the cores."
Relief swept over Yellow, her gratitude clear in her voice. "Thank you. This might finally help us make sense of everything."
Black's voice steadied, resolve underpinning his words. "We'll make it happen, Yellow. No more loose ends."
The line went quiet as the call ended, leaving Yellow alone with the simulation's lingering silence. She brushed a hand over her shoulder, her thoughts returning to the Duskmourn. Its glowing walls, filled with imprinted memories, felt closer now—almost tangible. A piece of the past waiting to be uncovered.