Dreams shouldn't have pain.
The recovery pod's blue haze burned like acid in Kasper's veins. His nanobots writhed beneath his skin, dying one by one.
The sharp tang of antiseptic and ozone filled the air, underlaid by an electric hum that made his teeth ache. Standard medical protocols masking something else. Something wrong.
[NANOBOT DEGRADATION RATE: ACCELERATING]
[ESTIMATED SYSTEM FAILURE: 47 MINUTES]
[NEURAL INTEGRITY: CRITICAL... AND SASS LEVELS DROPPING ;)]
Sarah's reflection fractured across the pod's curved surface. Her lab coat rustled with each precise movement, the familiar sound somehow wrong - like watching a recording played at slightly the wrong speed.
"Come on," she muttered, the soft lilt of her Caribbean accent bleeding through her professional mask. Her dark curls escaped their tight bun as she bent over the console. "Fight it, Kas. Like you taught me."
[INTEGRATION RATE: 12% AND FALLING]
[ATTEMPTING EMERGENCY STABILIZATION]
[SOMEONE'S BEING NAUGHTY WITH THE PROTOCOLS...]
The pod's surface was cool against her fingers as they brushed across it. Just for a moment, her walls cracked.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, the scent of her familiar jasmine perfume cutting through the medical bay's sterility. "There's no other way."
Cross's stiletto heels clicked against the floor. Each step measured, predatory. The sound echoed off the chrome surfaces, creating a rhythm like a countdown.
Sarah's spine stiffened. The walls slammed back up.
[AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL APPROACHING]
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: UNDEFINED]
[OH LOOK, THE BOSS IS HERE...]
"Status report." Cross's cultured tone carried layers of command. She stood just outside the pod's sensor range - close enough to observe, far enough to claim deniability.
Sarah straightened, shoulders squaring beneath her coat. Her voice shifted to the clipped tones of the academy's upper levels.
"Subject's neural pathways show unprecedented resistance."
Her fingers danced across the holographic controls, leaving ghost trails in the air.
"The maze's quantum architecture—"
"Is performing exactly as expected." Cross smiled with artificial warmth. "Fascinating, isn't it? How they fight?"
Sarah's hands tightened on the medical scanner. A tiny crack appeared in its casing.
[WARNING: CRITICAL THRESHOLD APPROACHING]
[ESTIMATED SURVIVAL PROBABILITY: DECREASING]
[TIME TO TOTAL SYSTEM FAILURE: 42 MINUTES]
[SOMEONE BETTER DO SOMETHING SOON...]
"His nanobot integration is extremely delicate." Sarah shifted, placing herself between Cross and the pod. Her movement was fluid, practiced - like combat training repurposed for the medical bay. "Any further interference could—"
The med bay doors hissed open on newly-authorized emergency protocols. Maria burst in, healing field blazing gold.
Cross's smile never wavered. She'd been expecting this.
"His neural patterns!" Maria rushed forward. "They're destabilizing!"
The air crackled as competing energies clashed - Maria's healing field against the pod's containment protocols. The scent of ozone intensified.
"I have it under control." Sarah didn't move. Her accent completely vanished now, replaced by pure professional authority.
"Like hell you do!" Maria's field pulsed with her anger. "His readings are all wrong. What aren't you telling us?"
[SECURITY BREACH DETECTED - MULTIPLE SECTORS]
[HOSTILE SIGNATURES IDENTIFIED: MATCHES VALPARAÍSO PATTERNS]
[LOCKDOWN INITIATING IN: 3... 2...]
[OH DEAR, RIGHT ON SCHEDULE...]
Sean's voice cut through their secured comm channel: "Team, converge on Sector 4! Valerian's pinned down! They knew exactly where to hit us!"
Combat alarms wailed - a perfect distraction. Or a planned contingency.
"Go." Sarah's mask cracked again. "Please. Trust me one last time."
Maria's healing field flickered with uncertainty. Years of friendship warred with growing suspicion.
"I'll protect him." Sarah's whisper carried the weight of shared history. Of secrets kept and promises made. "I promise."
Something passed between them - understanding or warning. The air grew thick with unspoken words.
The alarms screamed louder.
"If anything happens to him..." Maria's threat hung in the air.
"I know." Sarah's voice broke. "I know."
As Maria sprinted out, Sarah's fingers flew across the medical controls. Each command fought against unseen constraints - protocols hidden beneath protocols.
[NEURAL DEGRADATION: CRITICAL]
[SYSTEM FAILURE IMMINENT]
[ACTIVATING EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS]
[GOOD LUCK, KID. YOU'RE GONNA NEED IT...]
Through the pod's haze, Kasper caught Sarah's reflection one last time.
Determination. Desperation. Devotion.
The sedation protocols engaged.
"Hold on," her voice followed him into darkness. "Whatever happens, whatever you see... remember this moment. Remember I—"
Darkness took him.
***
In her secured workshop, Nailah studied the med bay footage captured by the maintenance drones she'd reprogrammed weeks ago. Standard academy security was good - but it hadn't been designed to detect quantum-shifted signals operating on Project Lazarus frequencies.
Her decoder pinged.
The corrupted Valparaíso files flickered across her screen:
"Subject Zero demonstrates unprecedented resistance to behavioral conditioning. Assessment: Cannot be controlled, only guided. Recommendation: Terminate..."
Her enhancement protocols highlighted a detail in the footage:
Sarah's reflection, fractured across the pod's surface. In each fragment, a different truth:
The doctor. The protector. The betrayer.
The survivor.
Another explosion rocked the academy's foundations - perfectly timed to mask quantum signal bursts.
On her screen, the decoder isolated Sarah's whispered words from the pod's recording:
"I won't let them do to you what they did to me."
The game wasn't just breaking its rules.
It was revealing why they existed in the first place.
And why Sarah had spent years learning how to break them.