Anders was dragged back to his cell after hours of relentless torture. His body was broken, burned, and bruised, but his spirit still clung to the threads of defiance. The guards dumped him onto the cold, metallic floor of the cell like a discarded object. Blood pooled beneath him, staining the once pristine surface. His mind teetered on the edge of consciousness, the pain threatening to drag him under.
The door slammed shut behind him, and the heavy clang echoed in the small, dimly lit space. Anders blinked through swollen eyes, his breaths ragged and shallow. He could feel every burn, every cut, every bruise etched into his body. But the worst pain wasn't physical. It was the knowledge that he might not survive another round.
He didn't even have the strength to cry out anymore. His throat was raw from screaming, his voice a hoarse whisper of what it had been. But in the depths of his suffering, his mind clung to one thought: They haven't broken me yet.
In the adjacent chamber, Varkas leaned against the wall, wiping the blood from his gloves. His patience was wearing thin. He turned to Korran, who was meticulously cleaning his tools with an air of detachment.
"He's tougher than I expected," Varkas admitted, a hint of frustration in his voice. "Most would have cracked hours ago."
Korran looked up, his expression cold and clinical. "Everyone breaks eventually. We just haven't found the right leverage yet."
Varkas's eyes narrowed. "Leverage? What leverage could a UOP pilot have out here? He's just a pawn in their game."
Korran smirked, setting down the scalpel he'd been cleaning. "Everyone has something, Varkas. A family. A secret. A fear. We just need to dig deeper."
Varkas mulled this over, then nodded. "Fine. Increase surveillance. Cross-check every piece of data we have on him. I want something we can use to shatter that resolve."
Hours passed, or perhaps it was days—Anders couldn't tell anymore. Time had become a meaningless blur in the darkness of his cell. He lay on the floor, staring at the ceiling, his mind drifting between reality and memory.
Images of his brother flickered in his thoughts—moments of laughter, shared victories, and promises made in the quiet hours of the night. His brother had always been his anchor, his reason for fighting.
A sharp pang of regret pierced through him. I should've stayed with him. I should've fought harder to keep him out of this war.
The memories gave him strength, but they also fueled his despair. The thought of failing his brother, of never seeing him again, was unbearable. But Anders knew he couldn't give the CMC what they wanted. Not even if it meant his death.
Meanwhile, in the interrogation chamber, Korran pored over the data gathered on Anders. A small file caught his attention—an encrypted transmission intercepted weeks ago. It had been labeled irrelevant at the time, but something about it now piqued his interest. He decrypted the file, his eyes scanning the text with growing curiosity.
A smile spread across his face. "Well, well," he murmured. "It seems our pilot has a little more to lose than we thought."
Korran stood and made his way to Varkas, the decrypted file in hand. "I think we've found our leverage," he said, handing it over.
Varkas read through the file, his expression darkening. "Interesting. Bring him back in."
Korran raised an eyebrow. "Already? He's barely alive."
Varkas's smile was cold and merciless. "Good. It'll make this all the more effective."
Anders was yanked from his cell once more, his body screaming in protest as the guards dragged him back to the interrogation chamber. They dumped him into the chair, strapping him in before stepping back.
Varkas loomed over him, holding a datapad. "I'll admit, Anders. You've impressed me. Few have the strength to withstand what you've endured."
Anders said nothing, his gaze fixed on the floor.
"But," Varkas continued, "even the strongest have their breaking point. And I think we've found yours."
He tapped the datapad, and a hologram flickered to life in front of Anders. It showed his brother, alive and well, working on a UOP base.
Anders's blood ran cold.
"Recognize him?" Varkas asked, his tone almost playful. "Your brother, isn't it? A fine soldier, by all accounts. Brave. Loyal. Just like you."
Anders's jaw tightened, but he refused to speak.
Varkas leaned in closer. "Here's the deal. You tell us what we want to know, and he lives. Refuse, and… well, let's just say accidents happen in war."
Anders's heart pounded in his chest. He knew this was a trap, a cruel game designed to exploit his weakness. But the thought of his brother in danger was unbearable.
"You're lying," Anders rasped, his voice barely audible.
Varkas smirked. "Am I? You're welcome to test that theory. But I wouldn't take too long to decide. Time is a luxury neither of you can afford."
The room was silent except for Anders's ragged breathing. His body was battered, his mind on the verge of collapse, but his resolve clung to a fragile thread. Varkas and Korran watched him, their expressions a blend of anticipation and calculated cruelty.
Anders opened his swollen eyes and glared at Varkas. "You think… this changes anything?" he spat, his voice hoarse and trembling.
Varkas raised an eyebrow, his smirk unwavering. "You're stronger than most, I'll give you that. But everyone has a breaking point. You're closer than you think, Anders."
Anders leaned back in his chair, his body trembling with exhaustion. The hologram of his brother flickered before him, a haunting reminder of what was at stake. He knew the CMC wouldn't hesitate to follow through on their threat, but giving them what they wanted wasn't an option.
"You won't touch him," Anders said, his voice steadier now. "You can torture me, threaten me, show me whatever you want. But you won't break me."
Varkas's smirk faltered for a moment. He exchanged a glance with Korran, who shrugged and picked up a scalpel from the table.
"Perhaps words won't do the trick," Korran said coldly. He stepped toward Anders, the scalpel glinting under the harsh light. "Let's see how far your defiance can carry you."
Hours later, Anders was dragged back to his cell. His body bore new wounds, fresh reminders of the CMC's relentless cruelty, but his spirit remained unbroken. The guards dumped him onto the floor, slamming the door shut behind them.
Anders lay there, staring at the ceiling. His breathing was shallow, his vision blurry. But in the silence of his cell, he clung to the thought of his brother—the reason he had to keep fighting.
In the interrogation room, Varkas paced back and forth, frustration etched across his face. "He's a stubborn one," he muttered.
Korran sat at the table, his expression calm and composed as he cleaned the tools of their trade. "We'll break him eventually," he said. "It's just a matter of time."
Varkas shook his head. "We don't have time, Korran. The UOP is closing in on our position. If we don't extract the intel we need soon, this entire operation could be compromised."
Korran set down his tools and looked up at Varkas. "Then perhaps it's time to consider alternative methods."
Varkas stopped pacing and turned to face him. "What do you have in mind?"
Korran's lips curled into a sinister smile. "We've been focusing on his physical limits, but his mind is just as vulnerable. The neural implant he's connected to… we could use it to our advantage."
Varkas frowned. "You want to tamper with his implant? That's risky. If we damage it, he might die before we get anything useful."
Korran shrugged. "A calculated risk. But if it works, we'll have access to his memories, his thoughts… everything he's trying so desperately to protect."
Varkas considered this for a moment, then nodded. "Do it. But be careful. I want him alive."
Hours later, Anders was jolted awake by a sharp, searing pain in his head. His vision blurred, and his surroundings shifted and distorted. He realized with growing horror that something was tampering with his neural implant.
Voices echoed in his mind, fragments of memories surfacing against his will. He saw flashes of his brother, their shared laughter, their last conversation before the war tore them apart. He saw the battlefields he'd fought on, the comrades he'd lost. And he saw the secret he had sworn to protect—the classified UOP data the CMC was so desperate to obtain.
"No," Anders gasped, clutching his head. "Get out of my mind!"
But the implant wouldn't stop. The pain grew more intense, the memories more vivid. The CMC had found a way to weaponize his own thoughts against him.
In the control room, Korran monitored the neural interface, his eyes fixed on the screen displaying Anders's memories. "Fascinating," he murmured. "So much pain, so much loss… and yet he clings to his resolve."
Varkas stood behind him, his arms crossed. "Anything useful yet?"
Korran shook his head. "Not yet. But we're getting closer. The implant is resisting the intrusion, which means there's something worth protecting. We just need to dig deeper."
Varkas's expression darkened. "Then dig faster. The clock is ticking."
Anders clenched his fists, his breathing ragged as he fought to regain control of his mind. The implant was a double-edged sword, a tool that had once given him strength but now threatened to destroy him.
Through the haze of pain and memories, a single thought rose to the surface: I can't let them win.
Summoning the last of his strength, Anders focused on the implant, willing it to shut down. The pain intensified, and for a moment, he thought he might lose consciousness. But then, with a surge of determination, he felt the connection sever.
The pain stopped. The memories faded. Anders collapsed onto the floor, his body trembling with exhaustion but his mind his own once more.
In the control room, Korran's screen went dark. He frowned, tapping at the controls. "Impossible," he muttered. "He shut it down."
Varkas's eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, he shut it down?"
Korran shook his head in disbelief. "I've never seen anything like it. He overrode the implant's neural interface. It shouldn't be possible."
Varkas slammed his fist against the console. "Damn it! That was our best chance!"
Korran looked up at him, a hint of admiration in his expression. "He's more than just a pilot. He's a survivor. And that makes him dangerous."
Varkas scowled. "Then we need to find another way. No matter what it takes, we will break him."
The dark silence of Anders's cell was shattered when the door slammed open, and two guards stormed in, dragging him to his feet. He stumbled, barely able to stand, his body trembling with the effort. The searing pain in his head from the implant tampering hadn't entirely subsided, and every movement sent fresh waves of agony through his skull.
"Let's go, soldier," one of the guards barked, tightening his grip on Anders's arm.
Anders didn't resist, too weak to put up a fight. He was dragged down a series of dimly lit corridors, the metal walls echoing with the sound of boots on steel. His mind raced despite his physical state, piecing together fragments of the interrogation and the sudden disruption he'd managed to cause.
The guards stopped in front of a reinforced door and input a code. The heavy door slid open with a mechanical hiss, revealing a sterile chamber filled with surgical equipment and a single chair with restraining straps. Standing in the center of the room was Korran, his calm demeanor betraying the sadistic glee in his eyes.
"Welcome back, Anders," Korran said smoothly, gesturing to the chair. "We've made some adjustments to our approach. I think you'll find this session… enlightening."
Anders glared at him, his breathing labored. "You're wasting your time," he said through gritted teeth.
Korran chuckled. "I admire your spirit. Truly, I do. But admiration won't save you."
The guards forced Anders into the chair, strapping him in securely. Korran stepped closer, holding a small device in his hand—a neural calibrator, designed to enhance or suppress implant functions.
"We're going to take another trip down memory lane," Korran said, his voice almost kind. "But this time, I'll be in the driver's seat."
Anders struggled weakly against the restraints, his heart pounding. He knew what was coming, and he wasn't sure if he could withstand it again.
The pain was immediate and overwhelming. Korran activated the calibrator, and Anders's mind was flooded with a torrent of images and sensations. Memories that weren't his own, distorted and foreign, intermingled with his true recollections. He saw himself piloting a mech he'd never seen before, leading a charge against the UOP, his comrades falling around him. He saw Zara's death replayed again and again, each time more vivid, more gruesome.
"No!" Anders cried out, his voice raw. "Get out of my head!"
Korran watched him closely, adjusting the calibrator. "Interesting," he murmured. "The implant's resistance is stronger than before. Your mind is fighting back, Anders. But for how long?"
Anders's body convulsed as the memories continued to assault him. He gritted his teeth, focusing on a single thought: I am stronger than this.
In the adjacent observation room, Varkas watched the process unfold on a monitor. The neural readings were erratic, the implant's integrity fluctuating dangerously.
"This is taking too long," Varkas said, his voice tense. "If he dies, we lose everything."
Korran's voice crackled through the comms. "Patience, Commander. The mind is a delicate thing. Push too hard, and it breaks. Push just enough, and it opens."
Varkas clenched his fists, his frustration mounting. "Just get what we need, Korran. No more games."
Inside the interrogation chamber, Anders's screams subsided into a hoarse whisper. The pain was relentless, but so was his resolve. Through the haze of memories, he found a thread of clarity—a way to fight back.
He focused on the implant, visualizing its circuits, its pathways. It was a part of him, and he could control it. Slowly, he began to push back against the intrusion, redirecting the calibrator's energy.
Korran frowned as the readings on his device spiked. "What the—?"
Anders opened his eyes, locking them on Korran. "You're not in control," he said, his voice steady despite his condition.
With a final surge of willpower, Anders overloaded the implant, sending a feedback loop through the calibrator. Sparks flew from the device in Korran's hand, and he dropped it with a curse.
The restraints on Anders's chair released with a mechanical click, and he collapsed to the floor, gasping for breath. The guards moved to restrain him, but Anders acted on pure instinct. He grabbed the fallen calibrator and smashed it into the face of the nearest guard, sending him sprawling.
The second guard hesitated, and Anders used the moment to grab his weapon—a compact plasma pistol. He fired, the shot hitting the guard square in the chest.
Korran backed away, his hands raised. "Now, Anders, let's be reasonable—"
Anders aimed the pistol at him, his hand steady. "Reason went out the window when you messed with my mind."
Korran's eyes darted to the door. "You'll never make it out of here alive."
Anders smirked, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "Watch me."
Anders didn't waste a second. He secured the plasma pistol in his grasp and scanned the room for any additional threats. His body screamed with pain, but adrenaline pushed him forward. Korran, still cornered, reached for a concealed communicator on his wrist.
Anders caught the movement. "Don't," he warned, his voice ice-cold.
Korran hesitated, his hand trembling mid-air. "You don't have to do this," he pleaded. "We can still work this out. The CMC could use someone with your skills—"
Anders stepped closer, cutting him off. "You used me. You tore my mind apart. There's no working this out."
Without another word, Anders swung the pistol hard across Korran's temple, knocking him unconscious. He didn't have time to deliberate over mercy or vengeance. Every second counted.
The hallway outside the chamber was eerily quiet, but Anders knew it wouldn't stay that way for long. Alarms blared, red lights flashing along the walls. He slipped the plasma pistol into his waistband and grabbed the fallen guard's access card.
He sprinted down the corridor, his eyes darting to every corner. The facility's layout was a hazy memory from his time being dragged through it, but he pieced it together as he moved. He needed to find a way to the docking bay—if there was one—or at least a communications array to signal the UOP.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of boots thundering in his direction. Anders ducked into a maintenance alcove, pressing his back against the cold metal wall. He peeked out just as a squad of five CMC soldiers stormed past, their weapons drawn.
"This way! Secure the prisoner wing!" one of them barked.
Anders waited until their footsteps faded, then slipped out of the alcove and continued down the corridor. He came across a small armory, the door ajar. Inside, racks of weapons gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lights. He quickly armed himself with a compact plasma rifle, a set of thermal grenades, and a tactical combat knife. His time in the military had taught him one thing: always be prepared.
As Anders moved deeper into the facility, the resistance grew. He encountered two more guards near a junction, their rifles raised the moment they spotted him.
"Stop!" one shouted.
Anders didn't hesitate. He fired his plasma rifle in quick succession, the shots precise and deadly. The guards fell, their bodies crumpling to the floor. He stepped over them, his focus unwavering.
Ahead, the corridor opened into a large hangar. Anders's heart leapt; rows of sleek CMC ships were docked, their engines powered down. If he could get to one of them
"Hold it!"
The voice came from his left. Anders turned, his rifle raised, to see a squad of heavily armored CMC soldiers fanning out across the hangar entrance. Their leader, a grizzled officer with a scar running down his cheek, smirked.
"End of the line, soldier," the officer said, leveling his rifle. "Drop your weapon."
Anders's mind raced. He was outnumbered and outgunned, but he wasn't out of options. His fingers brushed against the thermal grenades strapped to his belt.
"I'll drop it," Anders said, raising his hands slowly. "Just don't shoot."
The officer's smirk widened. "Smart move."
Anders waited until they were within range. Then, in one fluid motion, he pulled a grenade free, activated it, and tossed it toward the squad.
"Grenade!" one of the soldiers shouted, diving for cover.
The explosion rocked the hangar, the shockwave knocking several soldiers off their feet. Anders used the chaos to sprint toward the nearest ship—a sleek, single-pilot fighter with its cockpit open for maintenance. He leapt onto the wing, his muscles screaming in protest, and slid into the pilot's seat.
The controls were unfamiliar, but Anders's implant synced with the ship's systems, feeding him the data he needed. He powered up the engines, the hum of the reactor vibrating through the cockpit.
"Seal the hangar doors!" the officer shouted, his voice barely audible over the roar of the engines.
Anders gritted his teeth and slammed the throttle forward. The fighter shot forward, its wings barely clearing the closing hangar doors. He soared into the cold expanse of space, his heart pounding.
Behind him, alarms lit up on the fighter's console. Enemy ships were already in pursuit.
"Just another day," Anders muttered, gripping the controls. He pushed the fighter to its limits, weaving through the debris field surrounding the facility. Plasma bolts streaked past him, close enough to scorch the hull.
He spotted a cluster of asteroids ahead and angled the fighter toward them, using the massive rocks for cover. The pursuing ships followed, their pilots skilled and relentless.
Anders activated the fighter's weapons system, locking onto one of the pursuers. He fired, the plasma bolts striking true. The enemy ship erupted in a fiery explosion, debris scattering in all directions.
The remaining ships closed in, their firepower intensifying. Anders's hands flew over the controls, his movements precise and calculated. He twisted the fighter through a narrow gap between two asteroids, the pursuing ships struggling to follow.
One clipped an asteroid and exploded, leaving only two still on his tail. Anders pulled a sharp turn, doubling back toward them. He fired another barrage, taking out one of the ships.
The last pilot was more cautious, keeping their distance. Anders knew he couldn't outrun them forever. His eyes scanned the console, searching for an edge. Then he saw it—a button labeled "Overload Drive."
A grin spread across his face. "Let's see what you've got."
He hit the button, and the fighter surged forward with a burst of speed, leaving the remaining pursuer behind. The strain on the engines was palpable, warning lights flashing across the console, but Anders didn't care.
Moments later, the pursuing ship vanished from his radar. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
For now, he was safe. But he knew the fight wasn't over—not by a long shot.