Outside, Theta-1 unfolded like a memory of collapse. Dust rolled through the broken skeletons of buildings and drifted between rusting supports that once held power lines. The ground was fractured and uneven, scorched in places and cratered in others. The skyline was a low, hunched line of decay. The structures that were half-eaten by time leaned against each other like they were too tired to stand alone.
Lorien stepped forward and activated a map overlay on his forearm display. "We split into two teams," he said, voice firm over the rising wind, "Tylo, Rena—take west. Scan for intact architecture, power signatures, movement. Anything that's useful."
Tylo gave a two-fingered salute. "On it."
"Ryvek, Kalen, Hye-Won—you take east. Your focus is internal systems and substructure access. Prioritize mapping and data recovery. Keep the chatter minimum unless contact is made."
Ryvek nodded and Hye-Won gave a quiet acknowledgment. Kalen just exhaled and flexed his shoulders, as if preparing to wear the silence.
Lorien glanced over the group. "Theta-1 wasn't protected. When the mainland fell, this place became a holding zone for anyone without clearance. The poor, the undocumented and the exiled. It was never meant to survive."
His voice dropped slightly. "Now it's ours to walk through. Stay sharp."
Then the group split.
Team One peeled off to the west, Tylo already deploying a recon drone with a flick of his wrist. The small machine zipped ahead, blue lights pulsing as it skimmed the rooftops. Rena moved at his flank, steady, sweeping alleys and broken windows with her rifle.
Team Two turned east, stepping through the dust toward a corridor of leaning structures and sunken streets. The further they moved, the more the terrain resembled a graveyard. There were signs of firefights—burned-out vehicles, collapsed scaffolds, walls punctured by concentrated fire. Graffiti scrawled in desperation covered several of the buildings: "We won't go back." "They left us." "This city breathes death."
"This place..." Hye-Won started, but her voice trailed off.
Kalen finished for her. "...looks like the world ended twice."
"No," Ryvek said without breaking stride, "Techically, it ended once. The second time, it was just forgotten."
They continued east, navigating through an open intersection swallowed by uneven pavement. Charred tree stumps poked from sidewalks like blackened bones. The remnants of old street banners flapped weakly in the wind, their colors long stripped by dust and time. Rubble was piled in unnatural formations along the curbs, like someone had tried building barricades—or graves.
Kalen veered slightly off the path, drawn to a rusted kiosk half-buried in concrete dust. The front panel bore the remnants of a cracked city map, and behind the shattered glass display, faded emergency instructions blinked intermittently—some fragment of backup power still firing uselessly.
"Take a look at this," Kalen muttered, pressing a hand against the glass. "Still trying to help people years too late."
"We were instructed not to touch anything without clearance," Ryvek stated without slowing.
Kalen smirked. "Right. Minimum chatter, follow protocol, eyes front. Got it."
Beside him, Hye-Won lingered at the remains of what might have once been a children's playground, its broken swing sets coated in a fine layer of ash. Something about the sight rooted her for a moment. Her voice broke softly over comms.
"Do you think anyone thought this was temporary?"
"That question is irrelevant to the mission," Ryvek answered.
"Maybe," she replied quietly. "But it's not irrelevant to them."
Kalen had moved ahead again, ducking through the collapsed overhang of a former train stop. His boots scraped against old rails, and he paused, crouching next to what looked like an access panel half-torn from its mount.
"You're going to get yourself killed poking at things," Hye-Won warned, catching up.
Kalen gave her a sideways glance, already reaching for the latch. "Look, if it buzzes or bleeds, I'll back off. But this looks like a maintenance node—might connect to old emergency tunnels."
Ryvek stopped a few meters ahead, scanning the open plaza beyond. "You're wasting time."
Kalen stood up with a shrug. "Just trying to learn something before we're neck-deep in whatever ended this place."
The subject said nothing more. He simply moved forward again.
And then, through the shifting dust, they saw the partially standing municipal building. Its skeletal frame loomed through fractured silhouettes of dead lamp posts and shredded barricades. A faded government emblem still clung to the wall near the entrance.
Kalen nodded toward it. "Let's check inside. If there's any working terminals, they'll be in there."
Ryvek stepped forward first, sweeping the entryway with calculated precision. He signaled clear, and they moved inside.
The interior smelled of mildew and char. Shattered glass crunched under their boots. Desks lay overturned, data slates smashed or missing. A terminal blinked faintly behind a collapsed support beam.
Hye-Won moved to it quickly, brushing off dust. "It's responsive. It's on low power mode."
"Patch it through Ryvek's bypass," Kalen stated, covering the main hallway.
Ryvek joined her, kneeling and feeding a bypass cable from his gauntlet. The screen blinked to life with a local archive prompt. "The data's fragmented," he said, voice calm. "But logs are retrievable."
As the download initialized, Hye-Won stepped to an adjacent room. She froze.
"Kalen, here."
He entered and stopped beside her.
The room was lined with cots. Some still had blankets. Others were torn, bloodied. The far wall bore tally marks carved into the concrete—days, perhaps months. A small stuffed animal, burned at the edges, sat in the corner.
Hye-Won's voice was soft. "They tried to live here. Even after it all fell apart."
Kalen just stared, jaw tight. "We're too late. Years too late."
Inside the abandoned dormitory room, the silence pressed in like dust—soft, weighty, filled with memory. Hye-Won moved further in, eyes flicking across the wall of tally marks. She knelt near the scorched remains of a blanket and slowly lifted a melted canister. Water filter, maybe. However, it wasn't fuctional.
Kalen walked between the cots, stepping carefully. He nudged a cracked photo frame with his boot, flipping it over. The image beneath was faded, water-damaged—a family, barely visible, huddled in front of a food station.
"Do you think they were here when it fell?" he asked with a low tone.
Before Hye-Won could answer, something moved. A flicker—small, fast—cut across the far wall. Just a blur, like a shadow in motion. It disappeared before either of them could register what they saw.
Hye-Won jolted upright, eyes wide. "Did you see that?"
Kalen turned. "Please tell me that was you moving."
"It wasn't me," she whispered.
Then—again. A quick flash. This time across the opposite side of the room. The faintest sound of skittering feet, a rapid shuffle.
"Oh no, no—nope," Kalen said, already backing toward the hallway, "I draw the line at haunted buildings."
Hye-Won was right behind him. "Did you see how fast that was?! What was that?!"
They stumbled out into the corridor and practically collided with Ryvek, who was standing at the terminal, his hand still resting on the gauntlet cable.
"Download complete," he said evenly, as if unaware or uninterested in their alarm.
Kalen grabbed his shoulder, eyes wide. "Something just ran across the damn room! Small, fast—like a kid, but not right!"
Hye-Won nodded furiously, "It wasn't normal. It moved like—like smoke!"
Ryvek regarded them with the same expression he might've used for reviewing weather data. "There are no such things as ghosts."
"Well someone forgot to tell the ghost," Kalen muttered.
"Go check it," Hye-Won insisted, voice still shaky. "Please. We're not imagining it."
Ryvek paused. "Tactical clearance protocols don't cover spectral anomalies."
"Then call it a recon sweep," Kalen said, pointing. "It's that room."
Ryvek disconnected the cable, the screen flickering back to static. He stepped toward the doorway, not drawing his rifle but lowering his center of gravity slightly, as if preparing for a real threat despite himself.
He entered the room. The cot-lined silence greeted him again.
Hye-Won and Kalen watched from the doorframe, half-hidden.
"I'm telling you," Kalen whispered, "if he gets pulled into a vent by demon children, I'm out."
Ryvek scanned the room, his footsteps were slow and measured. The faint whine of a power core flickered somewhere beneath the floor, barely audible.
Then it came again.
The blur—this time near the furthest cot. It zipped from one side to the other, then disappeared behind a filing cabinet.
Ryvek's pupils narrowed. Without a word, he slipped his knife from a wrist sheath with silent efficiency. The blade caught the low light, gleaming briefly.
He advanced toward the cabinet and, in one swift movement, lunged. His hand shot behind the metal, seizing something by the collar—small, squirming, warm. A yelp, not inhuman, not distorted. Instead, a child's voice.
The subject pulled the figure into the open, arm locked around a narrow torso. Dirt-smeared cheeks, light brown hair, worn-out clothes, wide and terrified brown eyes. Thin limbs kicked helplessly.
The child squirmed in his grip, trying to break free. Ryvek pressed the blade near their throat—not cutting, but close enough to paralyze.
"Stop moving," he ordered flatly.
Hye-Won gasped. "Wait—Ryvek, it's a kid!"
The child whimpered, still trying to escape. Ryvek tilted his head, observing the small girl. Uneven breathing, irises dilated, no physical corruption and no irregularities. It was no F-rank subject. Just a terrified child.
Slowly, he retracted the blade and eased his grip, lowering the child to the ground without a sound. The small figure staggered backward, tripping over a torn backpack, but didn't run again.
Ryvek crouched down, not threatening—just staring. "Name."
The child didn't answer. Just stared, breathing hard. The girl seemed to be no older than eight.
"Are you alone?" Hye-Won asked softly from the doorway, stepping in now that knives were no longer drawn. "We won't hurt you."
The kid said nothing but looked between the three of them with wide eyes.
Kalen stepped in next. "Hey, it's okay. We're not here to drag you off or anything. We just need to know how long you've been here."
Still nothing.
Ryvek stood and turned toward the others. "She's frightened. She won't answer."
"Gee, I wonder why," Kalen commented, casting a look at the blade.
Ryvek ignored him and kept the blade in his hand.
Hye-Won knelt slowly, lowering herself to the child's level. "I'm Hye-Won," she said gently. "We're from Sector 2. This place—Theta-1—it was evacuated... Or it was supposed to be. Were you left behind?"
The child hesitated. Then, finally, a small nod.
Kalen exhaled. "So someone made it through. At least one."
"Or hid during the breach," Ryvek said. "It explains the movement."
"We can't leave her here," Hye-Won said quickly. "She won't survive a storm. Or anything else."
Ryvek didn't respond. He just looked at the child again
"We'll take her to Lorien," Kalen said.
Ryvek gave a single nod—sharper than before, like marking a box checked.
"Stay close," he told the child. "Do not run again."
The kid nodded stiffly.
And for the first time, Ryvek noticed the small stuffed animal clutched in the child's arms. Burned at the edge, the same one from the cot corner.
They regrouped outside. The storm clouds that had been distant earlier were now closing in, tinged orange by the low sun and thick with static energy. What had started as a veiled front on the horizon now churned above them like a living thing—swollen, roiling, and fast-moving.
The girl stuck close to Hye-Won, her small hand clutched the edge of Hye-Won's coat, the other wrapped tightly around the scorched stuffed animal she refused to let go. Her eyes rarely left Ryvek, even as she stayed silent, shadowing his every step with obvious mistrust.
"Storm front's moving faster than projected," Ryvek noted, scanning the sky and checking his wrist display. "Visibility will drop below viable ops level in twenty minutes."
Kalen stepped away to tap into comms. "Team Two: Log retrieved. East sector compromised. Requesting new path to sublevels before weather pins us down. We're also bringing a survivor—juvenile female. Condition: stable."
A pause, followed by Lorien's clipped reply.
"Understood. Team One located shelter beneath the west sector. They haven't completed their objectives. Everyone's staying overnight."
He sent a ping through the squad channel—a flashing blue marker blinking over their HUDs. Shelter coordinates appeared beneath it.
"You'll need to reroute," Lorien added, "New path uploaded. Push fast."
Dust whipped hard against them, forcing the group to lower their heads as they moved toward the next block. The girl pressed closer to Hye-Won, her small figure nearly lost in the storm-stirred gloom.
The path ahead narrowed through a collapsed housing corridor, its outer wall torn away by time and wind. Exposed rooms lined the passage like hollow teeth—each one full of things long abandoned: toppled dressers, old food dispensers, clothes that hadn't fit anyone in years. Graffiti trailed across the upper beams in sharp red slashes, names and phrases like broken prayers: "NO SIGNAL." "WE WAITED." "SHE NEVER WOKE UP."
"I can't believe someone's been living in this," Kalen muttered, brushing debris from his visor, "Kid's gotta be tougher than she looks."
"She's scared of you," Ryvek stated, tone matter-of-fact.
Kalen blinked. "Of me? She's scared of you."
Ryvek didn't respond, which, coming from him, was as close to agreement as Kalen expected.
"I think she just needs time," Hye-Won added gently, her voice aimed more at the girl than the others. "She's been alone a long time."
The child glanced up at her, then buried her face in the crook of her elbow, still holding the stuffed animal close. A small, muffled sniff escaped her.
The storm growled above them like distant artillery. A burst of wind shoved them sideways, forcing them to stop beneath the arch of a crumbled overpass. Bits of ash and fine debris stung exposed skin.
Kalen adjusted his strap and glanced down at the girl. "We need a name for you, if you've got one."
The girl hesitated.
"Ivalyn," she said at last, her voice tired.
Hye-Won smiled softly, resting a hand on the girl's shoulder. "Ivalyn. That's a beautiful name."
Ryvek's comms pinged. "We're nearing the waypoint. Half-kilometer south, lower-tier structure. Entrance through sub-basement tunnel."
"Copy," Kalen said, resuming pace.
They passed through the remnants of a ground-level market—shattered vendor stalls, old signage flickering from corroded solar cells. Wind rushed through open alleys and broken windows, howling between the steel ribs of a collapsed awning. A bent neon sign still clung to a wall above them, buzzing faintly: "SANCTUARY FOOD + SLEEP." Its promise had long since expired.
"Is that shelter actually secure?" Kalen asked, eyeing the shifting sky.
"It held Team One," Ryvek answered, "Assuming no internal breach, it will hold again."
They reached the entrance—a cracked staircase leading down into a concrete tunnel choked with grime and faintly luminescent mold. The light from the upper city barely reached this depth. Ivalyn gripped Hye-Won tighter, shrinking against her side.
"Tylo better have gotten the heating systems working," Kalen muttered, "Because I swear, if we're sleeping next to puddles again..."
Hye-Won nudged him. "She doesn't need to hear that."
"Right. Sorry."
Ryvek moved first into the tunnel, weapon lowered but ready. The air inside was heavy and stale, filled with the scent of rust and ancient concrete. Walls were marked with emergency paint strips, barely visible through decay. Somewhere deep below, the hum of a functioning power cell pulsed like a heartbeat—steady but distant.
At the bottom of the stairwell, a pair of reinforced doors stood half-ajar. Rena's voice crackled faintly over local comms.
"Team Two, you near?"
"Ten meters out," Ryvek replied.
The door creaked wider as they approached. Tylo stood on the other side, holding a portable light. His eyebrows rose when he saw the girl.
"You brought a stowaway."
"She's not cargo," Kalen responded, guiding Ilyeon gently into the light, "She's a survivor."
Tylo nodded slowly. "Damn. I didn't think anyone was still breathing up there."
"She is," Hye-Won said simply. "And she's with us now."
Rena stepped into view beside Tylo. She gave Ryvek a sharp look. "Anything else I should know?"
"Log retrieved. Power node identified. East sector not viable for long-term recon."
Rena stepped aside. "Then get in before we're buried."
They filed into the shelter—narrow, dim, but intact. A concrete bunker designed as a civilian fallback. The generator hummed low near the rear, its light casting long shadows along the curved walls. Someone had set up cots, a heating unit, and two portable water units.
Ivalyn clung to Hye-Won, her face finally easing into something less guarded. For the first time, she sat down—tucked in the corner of the room, stuffed animal still held tightly. The heavy thump of the reinforced door locking behind them signaled the final retreat from the storm outside.
Tylo was already peeling off the outer layer of his armor, settling onto one of the cots with a long sigh. "Not exactly five-star lodging, but I've slept worse."
"You've slept in a parked drone bay," Rena said, placing her rifle against the wall, "During a lightning storm."
"Hey, it was shielded," Tylo replied with a smirk.
Kalen, still brushing fine dust off his shoulder, chuckled. "I heard about that. Didn't you fry half your interface cable?"
"Which is why I sleep with backups now," Tylo said, patting the pouch at his belt proudly.
Hye-Won helped Ivalyn remove her torn outer jacket, revealing a thinner, patched thermal shirt underneath. The child sat cross-legged now, more relaxed, listening silently as the banter flowed around her like wind past a window.
Rena's voice came next, quieter. "Glad you brought her in. She shouldn't have been alone up there."
"We weren't leaving her," Hye-Won replied, smoothing Ivalyn's hair back instinctively, "She's one of us now."
Across the room, Ryvek stood at one of the work terminals built into the wall, reviewing the downloaded data from earlier. The glow of the screen lit the edges of his face but didn't touch his expression.
Lorien had taken the furthest cot, already half-reclined. He hadn't removed his sidearm, and his eyes tracked each speaker, even as he remained still.
"We'll coordinate the rest of the search once the storm clears," he said aloud. "Tylo, Rena—you'll finalize your unfinished sweep at first light. Ryvek, your data set may point us toward what went wrong in this district. We'll dig deeper after extraction arrives."
"Assuming it arrives," Kalen muttered, throwing a tired look at the sealed hatch.
"It will," Lorien replied, unphased. "The Commander and the IAPCE don't want another silent zone."
Tylo leaned back on his elbows, breaking the silence that came with Lorien's words. "So... since we're stuck here, do we get any downtime or are we on lecture duty?"
Lorien didn't look up from his corner. "You'll be briefed at sunrise. Until then, use the hours as you wish."
Tylo stretched out with a grunt. "Talking sounds less like work. Maybe we should actually get to know each other this time—beyond 'favorite food' and 'preferred method of death,'" He glanced around the room, "We've been together for what? Half a day? We're supposed to trust each other in gunfights but barely know who snores."
Kalen raised a hand. "That's definitely you"
"Excuse you, I do not snore," Tylo replied, mock-offended.
Rena gave him a look. "You don't. You wheeze like a dying turbine."
"See?" Tylo pointed, "Bonds are already forming."
Kalen smirked, "Alright then, team-building guru. What's your suggestion?"
Tylo thought for a moment, then clicked his tongue. "Let's do this. Real answers this time. No dark humor, no sarcasm. Just something about you we wouldn't guess. Something that matters."
There was a pause. Rena glanced at Tylo with suspicion. "You feeling sentimental all of a sudden?"
"I'm feeling like I'm stuck underground with you people until the sun comes back," Tylo replied, "Might as well learn who's who."
"I'll go," Hye-Won said quietly, her voice cutting through the room with surprising clarity.
All eyes turned to her. She looked up from Ivalyn, who clutched her stuffed animal with wide eyes.
Tylo blinked. "Whoa. New Hye-Won unlocked."
Hye-Won blinked, then laughed softly. "I guess.... I just didn't know if I could talk like this before. Everything was too fast."
"You nearly bit your tongue off during the briefing," Tylo commented, "Now look at you, casually volunteering. Next thing you know, you'll be yelling at Kalen for taking the last rations."
"I'm not that different," she said, cheeks faintly coloring.
Lorien finally lifted his head, regarding her with quiet interest. "Comfort is earned. You're adapting. That's what matters."
Hye-Won noded once. "Alright. My fact: I used to be a field medic at a civilian hub before I was conscripted. Most of the time, I treated dehydration, infections... childbirth. Not firefights."
Kalen gave a low whistle. "Big shift."
"Yeah," she muttered. "But the first time I held a kid's hand while she died, I stopped thinking of the work as different. Just heavier."
Silence settled briefly in the room.
Tylo nodded solemnly. "That's... damn. Okay, you win."
"I wasn't competing," she spoke softly.
Lorien shifted his weight slightly. "You should be the one answering evacuation triage if we find others," he said, more statement than suggestion.
Hye-Won just nodded.
Kalen leaned back. "I guess I'm up next. I used to be a translator before the Commander picked me up. I speak six languages. Still remember two of them that don't exist anymore."
"Wait," Tylo cut in. "Languages can go extinct?"
Kalen raised an eyebrow, "Tylo, we've colonized five systems and you're surprised by that?"
"I just figured... you know, if someone knew it, it counted."
Rena exhaled, amused, "Please stop explaining linguistics, Tylo."
Tylo sighed and pointed at Ryvek, "Alright, what about you, One? Got something to share that doesn't involve efficiency percentages?"
The room turned slightly as Ryvek, seated at the terminal still, looked over his shoulder.
"I've never had a conversation that wasn't mission-based until this month."
Lorien looked up now, genuinely intrigued, "You mean... ever?"
Ryvek considered, "None that I initiated."
Kalen raised his eyebrows, "That's kind of tragic."
Ryvek blinked, "It's efficient."
Tylo grinned, "You've got a real theme going, you know that?"
"I am consistent."
Lorien chuckled—just once, quiet and dry. "At least you're self-aware."
"I was trained to be," Ryvek answered without sarcasm.
Tylo squinted at him, "Okay... but that doesn't count."
Ryvek tilted his head, "It was a response."
"Yeah," Kalen chimed in, sitting forward with a grin. "A Ryvek-grade response. Predictable and mechanical. We already know you're consistent. Give us something you weren't... trained to say."
There was a pause. Ryvek looked between them, then back at the now-idle terminal screen. His voice didn't change tone, but there was a slight delay—like a process loading behind his eyes.
"I have a tendency to catalog people's habits."
Tylo blinked. "Okay... that's closer."
Kalen raised an evebrow, "What does that mean? Like... in a weird, stalkery way?"
"In a tactical way," Ryvek replied, "Kalen favors his left side when checking corners. Tylo spins his weapon before holstering. Hye-Won adjusts her gloves every time she's nervous. Rena doesn't blink during tension. Lucien prefers to remain standing even when fatigued. Ivalyn scans exits before she sits—even when she's afraid."
A moment passed. Kalen turned slowly. "I feel so... watched."
Tylo coughed. "Alright, now that counts as a fact."
Lorien chuckled again, shaking his head. "Stalker or not, he's still one of us."
"I'm assigned to you," Ryvek replied in a neutral tone.
"I don't see the difference, it's the same," Tylo shrugged, "Welcome to Unit-7"~
Tylo leaned toward Lucien. "Okay, boss-man. Your turn. Give us something real."
Lorien paused, "I hate water. I can't swim and i won't try."
Kalen blinked, "Wait, seriously?"
The executive nodded, "If we crash into a lake, I'll be the one yelling for air support before I hit the surface."
Even Rena cracked a smirk at that.
Near the corner, Hye-Won smiled faintly, glancing down at Ivalyn. The girl was watching the team's chatter closely, her brows furrowed in quiet concentration.
"Are you okay?" Hye-Won asked her gently.
The girl nodded once, then tilted her head, her voice small but clear,
"Um... how did he know I check the doors?"
Hye-Won blinked, confused, "The doors?"
"Before I sit down," Ivalyn clarified, looking across the room at Ryvek, who was once again seated near the dim glow of a terminal, "He said I look at the exits... He's really quiet but he saw that?"
Hye-Won offered a small smile. "He sees everything."
There was a pause, then Ivalyn leaned in again, whispering with a kind of innocent suspicion.
"And why does his uniform have that big white S-R-001 thing on it? Nobody else has that. Is he like, in charge or something?"
The medic glanced across the bunker to where Ryvek sat. The insignia on his chest stood out even in the dim light—sharp white over matte-black plating. She hesitated, then answered carefully.
"Ryvek's... special," she said. "He's what the DHE calls an 'enchanted human.' That's what the S-R-001 means. It's like a title—S for rank, R for his type, and 001 because... well, he's the best of his type. The insignia lets others know what he is and what he's meant to do."
Ivalyn's brow furrowed. "What's a D-H-E?"
"It's a government division," Hye-Won said, searching for simple words. "They handle special science and enhancements. They made Ryvek the way he is."
"Like a robot?" Ivalyn asked, hugging her stuffed animal tighter.
"No, not a robot. He's still human... Just different. Advanced. He has an AI system living inside him—VIREN. It helps him understand data, missions, all sorts of things."
Ivalyn stared at Hye-won with a bewildered expression. "What's an A-I?"
Hye-Won sighed softly, realizing she was digging herself into a hole of layered acronyms and systems she barely understood herself. "It's like... a helper. But inside his brain."
The girl stared at her with wide eyes, clearly trying to process it.
Hye-Won gave a helpless laugh and touched her arm gently. "You know what? You should probably ask him yourself. I bet he can explain it better."
The child's eyes widened slightly, flicking over to Ryvek—still sitting, still unreadable.
"...Are you sure?" she whispered. "He's kinda scary..."
Hye-Won nodded. "He won't hurt you. He didn't mean to scare you before. Just... try. He'll answer."
Still holding her stuffed animal like a shield, Ivalyn stood slowly and took cautious steps toward him. Her feet barely made a sound on the concrete floor, and she stopped just short of arm's reach.
Ryvek noticed her presence immediately. He turned his head slightly, just enough to look at her, eyes narrowing only slightly in recognition.
"Ivalyn," he said. No more, no less.
She flinched a little at hearing her name from him but stood her ground.
"....Hi," she muttered, almost whispering. Then, after a breath, she continued, "Why do you have letters on your chest? That S-R-thingy?"
Ryvek paused and looked down at the white insignia stitched into his uniform, then back at her.
"It means I was made to do certain things. Protect, fight, complete missions. The letters are how others know that."
"You were made?" she echoed, "Like a toy?"
His gaze didn't waver, "Not like a toy. Like a tool."
She frowned at that, trying to understand a concept she couldn't, "But you're still a person?"
The subject didn't answer right away. His head tilted slightly, studying her.
"Yes," he spoke eventually, "I think so."
She hugged her stuffed animal closer. "Hye-Won said you have something in your head. A VIREN?"
"VIREN is an... intelligence. A voice. It helps me decide things."
Ivalyn tilted her head. "Like when you said I check the doors?"
"Yes."
"But... why do you watch so much?"
Ryvek looked at her for a long moment. Then, he spoke more gently than before.
"Because watching keeps people safe."
She blinked, and for the first time, the fear in her eyes softened into something closer to curiosity.
"Do you watch me too?"
"Yes," he responded, "Not to scare you. Just to understand you."
Another beat of silence passed, then she sat beside him without asking. Still holding her stuffed animal, still cautious—but closer now.
"I like to know the doors are open," she said quietly. "That way, if something bad happens... I can leave."
Ryvek nodded once. "That's smart."
Ivalyn blinked at him. Her lips parted in surprise, then slowly curved into a small, proud smile—the kind that only came from hearing something rare and important. Especially from someone like him.
"You think so?" she asked, her voice just above a whisper.
"Yes. most people forget to watch the doors."
She beamed a little wider, scooting a touch closer—not quite shoulder to shoulder, but enough to show she felt safer now than when the day had started. "Do you have a stuffed animal?"
Ryvek's eyes flicked down to the worn plush rabbit she was hugging. The edges remained burned, one ear half gone. He looked back at her.
"No."
"Not even one?"
He paused, calculating whether this was a serious inquiry or part of some social test he didn't fully grasp.
"...I was not issued one."
Ivalyn giggled, stifling it behind the rabbit's head. "Maybe they should've."
Ryvek didn't reply. But his gaze lingered on the way her fingers absently traced the seams of the toy's ear, like they knew every line of stitching by heart. He watched—not as a soldier, not as a subject—but as something else, quiet and still, absorbing the presence of something small and human.
The bunker had dimmed further now. The humming of power cells and soft shifting of armor were the only sounds left. One by one, the others had retired to their cots or corners. Tylo had drifted off mid-sentence with a hand draped over his chest. Kalen lay back, one boot propped on the wall. Rena stood nearby on rotation, but even her movements had slowed, more out of habit than vigilance.
Lorien hadn't said another word since lights were lowered. His eyes were closed, though no one could say whether he was sleeping or calculating the next day's risks behind his lids.
Only Ryvek and Ivalyn remained seated, facing the faint blue glow of the idle terminal screen.
Her head started to dip.
"I'm not tired," she mumbled, even as her body sagged against the wall beside him.
Ryvek glanced down as her grip loosened slightly around the rabbit's threadbare torso. Her breathing steadied. Her eyelids fluttered once, twice—then closed.
He simply sat, watching the dark as it settled over the team, his back straight, eyes half-lidded, as he finished reviewing the data he had downloaded.