At the center of the chamber, suspended in midair, floats the construct, held in place by concentric rings of crackling energy fields. They hum with a low, sub-bass frequency that presses against my chest like a heartbeat too deep to be human.
The object itself is massive, manta-shaped and impossible to define at a glance.
Its black skin shifts and flows like liquid metal, constantly moving, reshaping itself in ways I can't quite wrap my head around. A deep purple light pulses from beneath its surface, casting shadows that dance across the chamber walls. Sharp ridges rise and fall rhythmically, like the whole thing is alive, and maybe even aware of me.
This is what crashed to Earth three years ago, providing both warning and technology that humanity desperately needed but could never safely use.
"This is what we recovered from the alien ship," Dr. Aveline explains, her voice pitched low to avoid triggering the construct's attention. The thing shifts in its containment, surfaces that appear metallic suddenly pulsing with organic rhythms while appendages that look biological extend with mechanical precision no earthly creature possesses.
I watch Devon's fingers hover over the holographic interface, trembling as if the glowing streams of code might burn him.
The data pulses like a swarm of fireflies, chaotic and untamed, and his breath catches, a sharp hitch that cuts through the low hum of the machinery.
His brow creases, not confusion, but something deeper, like he's staring into a void that stares back.
The code twists, its patterns coiling in ways that make my own head spin, defying every logic I thought I knew.
He leans closer, the faint glow casting shadows across his face, and mutters, "It's not following any programming logic. It's… literally thinking in ways human minds can't process."
The words hang in the air, heavy, as if he's glimpsed something beyond us both.
"It's learned from every interaction," Dr. Aveline continues.
Dr. Aveline swiped across the display, and the holographic streams flared to life, pulsing in fractal bursts too rhythmic to be random.
Kira leaned in, her eyes narrowing.
The patterns weren't just noise; they pulsed with the unmistakable cadence of neural activity. Synaptic mimicry. Thought.
"It's not just reacting," Aveline said, voice low, almost reverent. "It's evolving. Every engagement, it learned. It's woven defenses against bullets, viruses, even our best cyberattacks, like a mind outpacing us at every turn. It doesn't just counter threats. It anticipates them."
My gut clenched. Resistance wouldn't just fail. It would feed it.
The construct phases between states like it exists in multiple dimensions simultaneously, and my enhanced nervous system recognizes something in its energy patterns—frequencies that resonate with the alien technology I interfaced with during the Omega Protocol activation. The recognition flows both ways, and suddenly appendages that seemed dormant orient toward my position with predatory interest.
Kira backs away from her scanner as readings spike beyond measurement. "The energy fluctuations are affecting every enhanced subject in the facility. Neural activity is going off the charts."
"Because Ezren can interface with it directly," Dr. Aveline replies, her voice carrying desperate hope that terrifies me more than the cosmic threat above us. "His integration level continues accelerating beyond anything we've seen in other subjects. The construct recognizes him as something familiar."
The energy containment fields flicker as the construct presses against barriers with increasing urgency. Neural patterns that register on facility sensors begin synchronizing with my enhanced brain activity, creating resonance that makes the air itself vibrate with alien harmonics.
Devon backs away from monitoring equipment that sparks with overloads. "The system integration levels are spiking. Whatever's happening, it's affecting the entire facility."
"Step closer to the containment field," Dr. Aveline instructs, and her voice carries urgency that speaks of humanity's last desperate gamble.
My enhanced reflexes move my body forward while tactical processing screams warnings about obvious danger. But something deeper than conscious thought recognizes the construct as a gateway to understanding that might mean the difference between species survival and extinction.
**The containment field crackles like static electricity made visible, a translucent barrier humming with contained lightning. As I approach, the alien patterns flowing beneath my skin—those silver veins that mark me as enhanced—begin to pulse in rhythm with the construct's purple glow. The matching frequencies create a harmonic resonance that makes my bones vibrate.**
**Three feet from the barrier. Two feet. One.**
**My fingertips brush the containment field's surface, and the energy doesn't burn—it recognizes. The barrier parts like water, my neural implants interfacing directly with the alien frequency modulation that maintains the field itself. I'm not breaking through the containment; I'm being invited in.**
**The moment my enhanced neural field merges with the construct's energy signature, reality explodes beyond human comprehension.**
My consciousness expands across light-years in seconds, connecting not just with the construct but with the vast hive-mind network that spans the approaching Devourer fleet. Through the alien perspective, I experience civilizations consumed across millions of years—planets stripped of all biological matter and converted to fuel for endless expansion.
But something in my enhanced neural pattern creates resonance they've never encountered. My consciousness doesn't simply connect to their network—it creates interference patterns that disrupt hive-mind coordination across multiple ships. For seconds that feel like hours, I'm contaminating their collective intelligence with human individuality that their system cannot process.
Alarm cascades through the alien network like wildfire, and suddenly the construct begins broadcasting signals toward deep space with transmission power that makes facility equipment overload in sparking cascades.
"Sever the connection!" Dr. Aveline shouts over alarms that wail throughout the installation, while Devon frantically attempts to shut down systems that no longer respond to human control and Kira's scanner screams warnings as bio-signatures throughout the facility spike beyond measurement.
But the interface has become a two-way bridge, and through the expanding link, I feel the Devourer fleet's attention focus on Earth with interest that transcends simple hunger. They recognize my neural signature as something unprecedented—integration levels that shouldn't be possible in any species they've encountered.
The construct's transmission intensifies, and through the alien network, I feel the fleet's movement patterns shift. Ships that moved with patience of inevitable predators suddenly accelerate with urgency that makes space itself bend around their passage.
The connection shatters, leaving me gasping on the laboratory floor while the construct writhes in its containment with satisfaction that chills my enhanced perception. Devon kneels beside me, his face carrying horror as facility systems cascade into failures around us, while Kira's scanner provides the only stable readings in a room where alien frequencies pulse through every surface.
"They know about you specifically now," Dr. Aveline whispers as emergency sirens wail through corridors that pulse with alien energy. "Your neural pattern created priority-level interest in their collective. The invasion timeline just changed—they're coming faster."
Through emergency lighting that bathes everything in blood-colored warning, I realize that my unique compatibility with alien technology has made me both humanity's greatest hope and its most dangerous vulnerability. The Devourers aren't just coming to harvest Earth anymore.
They're coming for me.